#VERY belated entry

[kazbob]

FFXII Week - Day 6: Favourite Antagonist

Judge Ghis

Big fan of peepaw. Mark Wing-Davey voicing him was such a pleasant discovery! I love evil old guys full of hubris

[wintersera]

study date? || futa!wonyoung x f!reader

notes: first time ever writing futa and i feel like a hentai loving freak for doing so- anyways “hermaphrodite” futanari especially refers to pornographic characters in erotic manga or anime, known as hentai. basically wy has a pussy and a dick 😭 also happy belated birthday @wonysugar this was for u

cw: futanari, sub!wonyoung, dom!reader, dacryphilia, strap on (i say cock as well), overstimulation if you squint, praise(?), 100% not proofread leave me alone 😭

wc: 5k

“you know you’re about to be kicked off campus if you don’t pass right?”

“what…”

your teacher had summoned you a mere 5 minutes ago to drop the most devastating news you had ever heard in your half assed school life. obviously you knew your grades weren’t the best- they were shit.

you had joined the university to get away from your annoying ass parents, and you were very VERY lucky to have been accepted into such a prestigious one, a university that would make your parents proud. only skimming the entry requirements by a passing grade.

anyways, you couldn’t have the risk of losing the good friends you had made, so you started thinking... if you were to study hard you could stay, maybe fuck around at parties and whatnot, but then again you and studying don’t go hand in hand, unfortunately. even if you tried to sit down in the lecture hall with a notebook and your laptop on the side you’d most likely forget the content in as soon as you step out.

groaning in frustration, you throw your hands up into the air dramatically “ughhhh… okay, i’ll make it up to you somehow. please don't kick me out just yet”

—

stumbling into your next class like the dramatic person you are, you mumble under your breath with a displeased look on your face obviously shown by furrowed brows and your persistent frown.

“fuck this class, this is so shitttt” uttering as you take your note book from out of your bag to scribble down some barely readable half assed notes, since your teacher was rambling about some topic you didn’t quite grasp.

it was extremely obvious that you had no clue on what was being taught. instead of embarrassing yourself in front of the whole entire class by extending your arm up in the air, it was only natural for you to ask the person next to you for help. the girl next to you was known as the most intelligent person in the class, maybe the most intelligent person on campus if you say so yourself.

“…hey” whispering while poking her shoulder “what exactly are we learning?” the girl carefully placed down her pen to turn her head in your direction, her hair doing that cliche slow motion sway as she adjusts her glasses, making sure that it was tucked behind her ears. it took her a while to speak up, maybe it was nerves. people often depicted you as an outgoing ‘popular’ person, but you didn’t believe that at all- i mean who uses school hierarchy at your big age. sure, you have a couple of close friends here and there and you easily become acquainted with people, yet that doesn’t really make you popular… you think. just a few drinks and you’re already chatting to everyone at the club.. you wouldn’t call that being popular, right? or maybe she was repulsed by you instead, you dont know why, but maybe she just didn’t fuck with your vibes- your personalities clashed severely, and although you weren’t a believer of those cliche stereotypes where the nerd is absolutely terrified of the avid partygoer- those cliches almost felt too real.

her eyes widened and it seemed like all the blood had rushed up to her cheeks as she stared at your face for a few seconds, completely forgetting what you had asked her before “uh.. um… what did you ask me again?” by her body language alone, you could sense that she was tensing up. okay maybe you were a little bit intimidating, who wouldn’t think you were by the way you waltzed into the lecture hall all dramatic like that.

“i’ve been behind on everything and i’m about to get kicked out so could you maybe help… please?”

“um- well, it’s kinda impossible to learn all the content in one sitting, since our professor kinda just talks for hours on end. so… uh if you’re okay with it, do you wanna do a little studying together?”

“yes?! oh my god perfect, you’re a lifesaver. just say where and i’ll be over” immediately accepting the offer just like that. you’d think that she would be more timid considering that she was literally paralysed when you poked her, but luckily enough, she had the balls to speak to you. god bless confident ass nerds.

being too enthusiastic about studying with her, she was a little bit caught off guard by the way you beamed “w-we could do it after class. i’m not busy and no ones gonna be in my dorm today apparently…” you thought about it. even though you were fine with studying at a local cafe, or the university library, a change of environment could possibly help you “that’s if you want to of course” fiddling with her pen as she softly added the last sentence.

“sure, why not. a change of environment wouldn’t hurt- and plus i might study better with someone as smart and cute as you”

“h-huh? what?”

you felt a little pang in your heart, her confused face made your pulse race a little too fast for your liking “ah… i didn’t mean that in a flirtatious way” sureeee “i meant it more like- you know what… i'm digging myself a hole. i meant you’re very very smart and i’d love for you to help me study” flashing her a quick smile.

“uh- um yeah.. ahaha. so my place is fine?”

“sure”

—

after another painful hour of sitting impatiently in your seat, class finally ended with you still not understanding a single thing that came out of your professor's mouth.

“i have no idea what she was yapping about”

“it’s because you sleep at the back sometimes. you better stop taking naps or else she’s gonna kick you out for real”

“…you pay attention to me sleeping in class?” interrogating her seemed fun. she was always so quick to answer your questions with a funny flustered response. something along the lines of stuttering profusely everytime you ask her a simple question. it was like you knew her for a while, being so comfortable in her presence that you can easily toss banter around.

“NO- i mean.. it’s because you sleep so soundly and so obviously, probably because you’re partying almost every night, r-right?”

“you’re so cute when you stutter- also yes i do go out a lot but not that much” teasing her a bit more as you walk out of the lecture hall “so where’s your dorm at pretty girl?”

“oh! uh.. it’s just a 10 minute walk away”

you called her a pretty girl? out of nowhere? it was involuntary but it came out smoothly and without you thinking, plus it really messed with her head. score. what you failed to realise is that she walked a little funny, shuffling as she walked beside you. the tent in her pants being so obviously apparent that she covered it up with her bag, that was thankfully big enough.

that 10 minute walk to hers felt oddly familiar, until you realised that you lived in the same accommodation. what a shocker.

what's even more funnier is that she lived one floor above you

“wonyoung”

“y-yes?” she jumped in place as she reached for her keys in her bag, the keys almost falling out of her hands.

“it’s kind of funny how i live right below you” giggling about how silly you thought it was “how come i’ve never seen you around?”

“hmmm… too busy studying i guess”

“ah, that would make sense. anyways why are you just standing at the door, are we gonna go in or nah”

you waited as she lowkey struggled to insert the key into the door. watching her closely as she curses under her breath, she must’ve thought that she looked like a complete and utter loser. she was right. she was a mess in front of you-

“take your time babe”

“s-stop don’t call me that. you’re gonna make me mess up again” panicking as she missed the key hole.

the door finally opened and you were in. her room was, well, basically the same size as yours of course, but it was definitely much more organised in contrast to your hell hole of a room “god damn, i’m glad you didn’t offer to go to mine”

as you sat down on her bed, you scanned across her walls and other stuff, taking note of what types of posters she had on her wall just in case you felt generous one day and decided to give her a gift. not like you had any money for that though. it wasn’t surprising when you glanced over her desk to see a couple of shoujo anime figures still fresh in the box “hah wow you really are nerdy”

“s-shut up and come sit here”

—

“alright so that’s how you finish off this part… are you okay… you look out of it” she questions you while you slide down her conveniently placed extra chair that was placed right next to her.

“that felt like a fuck ton of cars just crashed simultaneously into my brain. wonyoung i know you’re smart, but can you dumb down the explanations plea-” you pause as she got up from her seat- your jaw swung wide open in shock laying your eyes upon something you guess wasn’t meant to be seen.

“how about we take little break. let me get you some.. um y/n? helloooo- are you good? is your brain fried?”

yeah it was. your focus was shifted onto something else. no thoughts, no words just..

cock?

you responded to her question with a nod- yeah yeah your brain was definitely fried, you even questioned if it was because the studying REALLY did fuck your head up, but my god it was as clear as day. the print in her pants was certainly real, there was no way that it was fake. her bulge being so unrealistically big that it looked like her pants were restricting all the space in there- no room for her cock to breathe at all.

“i… i uh- i don’t wanna be a creep or anything but… wonyoung i think you might have an issue down there”

“down where?” HOW did she not realise that she had a massive hard on right in front of you.

luckily she was cute, and thankfully you had a huge thing for nerds like her. you take a deep breath- praying to the skies that she doesn’t find you weird for asking this specific question.

“need help?” you breathe shakily, the sight of her cock begging for it to be released from her tight pants made you almost drool. heat spread to your face while she looked at you confused for a second until it hit her.

“ah, you meant t-that? aha i don't know how it got there um uh.. it’s definitely not because- i mean it’s like… well it seems like i have a hard on ahaha” there was an awkward silence that washed over the both of you.

“i- sorry i didn't mean to get turned on by you” shyly admitting whilst attempting to cover her hard on with her note book.

“oh, so i turned you on?” a smirk slowly appearing on your flushed face, a teasing hand brushed her cock ever so slightly as you crossed your legs.

“fuck… y-yeah you did.. sorry” she began to lose her balance as you cupped your hand around her bulge.

“no need to apologise” once again, silent washes over you- collecting your thoughts on how to approach her again “…wonyoung”

“mhm?”

“take your pants off for me” you eyed her down like a predatory animal, crossing your arms as she slowly takes her pants, then her boxers off. her cock sprung out and hit her stomach with a thud. damn, she was hung-

telling a cute girl to strip in her own dorm room wasn’t really on your to do list today, or at all, but here you were. the cute girl in question having a massive cock and what seems to be the lack of balls.

wait pause? she doesn’t have any balls? interesting- now you’re equally intrigued and horny.

“sit down on the bed for me cutie” the sudden use of a pet name made her whine aloud. you guess she was weak towards those types of words- adorable. she sat down on her bed, legs shut from embarrassment “awww” you coo at her “how cute. come on, spread your legs for me baby”

“mmm.. wait wait you’re gonna be weirded out. i-i don’t think we shouldn’t do this”

“there’s nothing to be ashamed of. be proud of your dick wonyoung, people would die to have a cock this size” lifting yourself outta the chair to kneel in front of her “nowww, i did say i was gonna help- i promise i won’t be weirded out”

even though her dick was out, and you were so ready to suck it off. clearly nervous, you placed a reassuring hand on her thigh “it’s not like i’ve never seen a dick before- you’ll be fine with me, promise”

“it really isn’t about my dick. it’s more about the um… the… okay i don't have balls”

“huh?” you sat there perplexed- she has what? what do you mean she has no balls “n…none at all? well it’s not like i care anyway, dick is dick”

“okay so um- instead it’s just… actually just look for yourself” no words could explain how embarrassed wonyoung felt, her cheeks heated up- actually no, her whole entire face lit on fire. slowly spreading her legs apart, she revealed her sopping wet cunt.

yeah whatever, you weren’t opposed to the idea of nerd girl jang wonyoung having a massive fucking cock and a pretty tight pussy at the same time- more so, it turned you on severely knowing the nasty things you could do to her “you don’t need to worry about it baby, i’ll make you feel so good that you’ll forget about being embarrassed” you say after licking a strip up from the base of her cock to the very tip

“ah.. mhm… your tongue- warm” hands extending to grab your head gently, her long fingers tangling themselves in your messily tied hair.

“first time?” looking up from in between her legs. surprisingly, she shook her head with the bite of her lip “not a virgin? okay so i can do this” swooping one strand of hair to the back of your ears, you make haste, your mouth opening wide as you let her cock slide into your mouth, and a little into your throat.

“hngh s..so deep, sorry i lied ah- i am a virgin” it makes you giddy on how she always gave such honest answers, not a single drop in this woman's body could lie. even through pleasure she was true, her hips jolting upwards and never shying whenever you did something she enjoyed. you played with her tip, attentively listening to her whines gradually increasing in volume. for funsies, you then ease one finger into her needy pussy, her head thrown back- rolling her hips shamelessly.

releasing her cock from your mouth and resting your face next to it “feeling good?” you ask, just to make sure she’s actually good. she doesn’t answer, well she does, but in a series of whimpers and squeals. her response confirmed it for you, she felt more than good.

your pulse quickened, her once tense body relaxed under your control. to be an extra tease, you flashed her a cheeky smile before you take her cock back in your mouth. she gasps again, you watching her face contort; brows furrowing, biting her lip, her eyes occasionally rolling back as you curl your fingers inside- stretching her pussy by adding a second finger just so you can see her mouth fall open.

wonyoung felt like she was crumbling over the edge with your fingers pumping in and out of her hole without any breaks, and your tongue working magic around her throbbing cock. soon enough her legs were wide open for you and in return you giggled a little. an unknown feeling building at the pit of her stomach freaked her out yet it was oddly welcomed. you knew by the way her thighs trembled that she was close to finishing.

she couldn’t help but call out your name. she really tried her best to take her cock out of mouth while she came, but you refused to move even an inch, letting her load paint your throat white as you gulp down every last drop of it. you still kept fingering her until she couldn’t take it anymore, wriggling herself out of your hold and flopping onto the bed “that… felt… too good. i-i think i need to.. catch my breath” she says while blankly staring at the ceiling.

even in a situation like this you found her endearing, unlike the many hookups you’ve had where you’d leave after a good fuck. she was different from rest; a hidden gem “sorry i got carried away, you’re too cute wonyoung” like that her dick sprung back up “really, just by me calling you cute your cock is back up?”

“it has a mind of its own, leave it be” you giggle at her silly antics. with zero hesitation, you pull off your flimsy shirt exposing your bare skin to the air. it’s a little cold

still on the bed lying down, her eyes closed, you straddle over her hips “can we do it again, i didn’t get off. or maybe no… you know i don’t mind, i just wanted to see you flustered, and of course feel good”

she sprang up- which, to be honest, caught you off guard. huffing into the crook of your neck, peppering ticklish kisses alongside. there was a minor look of desperation on her face that you weren’t familiar with when it came to her. you’d usually see her around campus all calm and collected, looking so poised and shit and yet here she was, crumbling over a simple comment you made about her and her dick.

she switched between light pecks to open mouthed kisses, definitely leaving obvious bruises all over “you’re.. so.. pretty… wanna-”

“yeah? you want that dont you baby. wanna fuck my pussy don’t you” poor girl was flustered at your words. her lips grazed your neck again and whimpered as she kissed your jaw.

“yes please” your stomach twisted. so so cute begging to fuck your pussy. you complied, quickly discarding your underwear and tossing it somewhere. a hand took her shoulder, stabling yourself as you gradually let yourself sink onto her cock.

“hnggh… fuck. wonyoung you’re so? haaa- you’re really big” you felt a little lightheaded after fitting the entire length of her inside. you weren’t expecting her to reach that deep into you, maybe to the point of you losing yourself all over her dick. it was insane to you how much you could take. really really insane how she was able to stretch your pussy out so much to the point of your eyes rolling back.

fuck, why was she that big? you started tearing up and she wasn’t even moving “won… wonyoung, please i need you to start doing something” i think you might’ve driven her past processing because tell me why she wasn’t listening at all. she could be pussy drunk for all you care, actually no she was one hundred percent drunk off of your pussy. you were wet beyond comprehension, and the feeling of your walls clenching down on her cock made her moan so loud. thank god her flatmates weren’t because if they were, they’d hear the most filthiest things through the thin ass walls.

you gave her some time to adjust herself accordingly, waiting… for… quite a long time. it really looked like she was basking in the heat of your cunt and you honestly you thought that was quite endearing, but fuck, you needed her to ram into you or at least move around. she still hasn't done that still… good lord she was gone. so taking the situation into your own hands, you lifted yourself off of her hips just a tiny bit and harshly slammed down, both of you moaning at the overwhelming feeling “ah- fuck? wait wait..” you couldn’t wait any longer, you needed to be fucked crazy.

“mhm, just- just stay still like that. let me do what i need to do” you bounced once more, watching as wonyoung threw her head backwards, her mouth agape and everything.

even though you were mid fuck, wonyoungs glasses were still on. she needed to take them off for some reason, but you didn’t let her “hey don’t- keep those glasses on, you look so… mgh.. you look so fucking good” saying all of that while you increasingly sped up. now your thighs began to ache, worth it though. with each time her cock pumped inside, the closer you felt towards coming.

shit, you felt it so much, it was much stronger than usual and you felt like you were about to explode.

“come- fuck. wonyoung baby, are you close too?”

she nodded weakly. she was about to come again after the last- and so quickly too. her head was spinning, her thighs clenched, snapping back up to wrap her arms around your torso to keep you still; and to keep you close “close.. gonna…”

“me too… me too. keep- oh my god” your movements became frantic. then, not so shortly after, wonyoung lets out a long lasting moan. a mind breaking orgasm hits her so hard, her mind blanking out yet again while her thick semen fills you up. you followed straight after, your hand gripping her shoulder tightly until your knuckles turned white. a harsh groan reverberating inside of wonyoungs head as you moan straight into her ear.

awkward and weird as it may sound, but you immediately thought about hmmm… strap. you really wanted to try it. the thought of her with her ass high up in the air, with you dicking her down and jacking her off seemed something almost so pornographic and unrealistic that it excited you beyond comprehension.

why not give her the chance to cum all over you, and then get severely embarrassed about it. something about her just made you want to tease her until she’s crying. well that did sound like an appealing thing to do.

wonyoung laid down again. out of breath “made me… come again… i’m so…”

“cute… haa.. you’re really cute” you were equally as spent as she was but you HAD to try pounding her pussy. sure, your legs weren’t able to support you standing back up, after all you did use them to fuck yourself on her, but you were UP “can i go back to my room real quick? i’ll be back, it’s a pleasant surprise, i promise”

“uh, sure?” she was confused as to why you grabbed your pants and her shirt that she took off to then sprint outside of her room. quite strange don't you think? well whatever.

you hurried to your door, searching for your keys in your back pocket “come on- come onnnn” your thighs were so sore but you had to get that damn pink strap out of your closet. it was a need to fuck her perfect pussy.

there it was in its glory, a small rectangular box that concealed your strap. alright, time to speed back up the stairs.

i guess she wasn’t even bothered to check who it was, but she immediately opened the door as soon as she heard you knock once “hey i’m back, i got you a present” you heaved as you legitimately ran up a flight of stairs not too long ago.

“a present for me?” i mean she was bewildered, you had a box in your arms. no decoration, just a plain ass box.

“yeah- fuck, let me catch my breath… okay yes i know it doesn’t look like all that, but look-“ you opened the box to reveal your unused strap on “can i use it on you?”

you cannot stress this enough, but wonyoung’s face was violently red again. given the fact that you had made her cum twice and she was still this flustered about it had you drooling at the thought of making her a mess all over again.

“y/n do you think that can fit… in me?”

“we can try. i know your pretty pussy can take me whole” and with that she was soaked again. she felt that and got hard once more.

“g-get inside, you’re in the doorway”

“oh shit yeah okay”

wonyoung fell on top of her bed, cushions and blankets were still messed up. you closed the door behind you and opened up the box, a whole eight inches just for wonyoungs pussy “it’s so cute how you’re still soaked, were you thinking about me while i was gone?”

“it was five minutes… yeah, i was thinking about you” hiding her face behind her hands.

“aww cute, lean on your hands and knees for me babe”

“o-okay” she responded obediently to your words. wonyoung got onto her hands and knees and waited patiently for your next order. her back looked way too pretty, so you got up onto the bed, planted a kiss on her lower back making her twitch in response and cooed

“aww still so sensitive?” she didn’t realise it before, but you were behind her with your strap already fitted on you. she unintentionally arched her back, feeling your presence already there “god, you’re so desperate for me aren’t you?”

“please… just- i’m ready. just hurry up and take me” you giggle as you acknowledged her insatiable craving for your cock.

“you’re dripping.. and you’re so hard, tell me how much you want it” telling her just to be a tease “beg for it”

“…please…” her voice low, almost a whisper.

“good girl” you slowly buried yourself inside her cunt, letting her familiarise herself with the new sensation. her hands gripped the sheets tightly, a fist full of cloth was keeping her from losing her control.

“oh my go- so… fuck” she cried out your name a couple of times before spilling out incoherent sentences. something like “good, so good” and a few more unintelligible words followed with high pitched moans.

a girl this cute and needy deserved more than just this. you slowly paced your thrusting, making sure that she felt comfortable, and by also not shoving the entire strap inside of her. all though you wanted to go rough and abuse her tight hole, that was for another day or maybe even in a couple of seconds actually.

“you good?”

“nnghh- s… so good” she couldn’t even form sentences. there was no need to even ask. her body alone showed how much she yearned for your touch.

oh so now you needed to fuck her till she’s dumb. what happened to that little smart brain of hers? so spent out on being fucked till she’s dry made her behave like she’s out of her mind. you started thrusting your strap in even deeper, hoping that she can take the full thing. she did. with how wet she was, it wasn’t surprising that it slid in so easily. a choked moan coming straight from her mouth as soon as you finished pushing it all in “you’re taking me in so well. i knew you could do it babe”

it was like you didn't think but you started to pump in and out of her faster and harder. each guttural moan that came out of that pretty mouth of hers, the faster you went. the more ruthless you got. oh how hard you were going, giving wonyoung no time to settle. the sounds her pussy made were nothing but filthy, the sweet sounds of her squelching pussy was like music to your ears. she loved every single thing you did to her body, although she couldn’t express it through her words.

you grabbed her hips, moving them and slamming them straight back into your cock just to make her scream out your name “you like that? want me to pound into your pretty pussy like that again?” there was a slightly mean tone to your voice.

“mhmmm… again- do it again” she begged and cried for more.

this time you pulled straight out, leaving her whining until you slammed right back into her again, but this time with a twist. you leaned over wonyoung a little, resting almost on top of her back. you slithered your hand across and grabbed her cock, teasing the tip a little before snapping your hips that made her ass push into you. she sharply inhaled as you played with her cock, moving from her sensitive tip to stroking her length gently while you ravaged her insides

“too- too much.. feels so.. haaa… mmmmm” two sensations blending into one could be described as too overwhelming and extremely overstimulating. being fucked dumb made her sob a little, feeling as if her insides were about to collapse, and feeling as if her dick was about to erupt.

shit, it felt way too good.

her entire body convulsed, her hands were balled into a fist, clutching onto the sheets desperately, she screamed profanities into her pillow. her orgasm hit her harder than it did the other two times. you could say it even made her almost pass out. poor girl was seeing stars as you kept stroking her cock to help her ride out her climax. you never knew she could scream that loud… or even cum this much. beds being completely drenched with both her juices and her cum. you’d have to help her clean up for sure…

“stop- stop.. oh god… mmm oh my god”

and maybe you could do this again. another study date.

[shirefantasies]

hello there!! i've been reading your works for a while and they're adorable, i love them so much ;A;

it's actually my birthday today! if it's not too much trouble, could you write the Fellowship (plus Arwen and Eowyn if you'd like <3) and how each of them would spend reader's birthday with them?

if not, then that's okay! hope you have a great day and once again i love your writing :D

Happy belated birthday anon! This is a cute idea 😄

REQUESTS ARE STILL CLOSED! This is a very old request I’m just getting around to posting.

Warnings: a bit suggestive at times

How LoTR Characters Spend Your Birthday With You

Aragorn

He is not exactly the biggest party person, so unless you are your celebration will be smaller, more intimate. You’ll be woken with the gentlest kiss and a whispered blessing. Whatever you command, Aragorn teases, he is yours…. Beyond that, he is his typical attentive self, cooking your favorite meal for you and laying it out beautifully as he can. Candles, flowers, you name it and he has found it. All day the words pass his lips that the world is all the richer for your entry into it, that he considers you a blessing every day of his life. So much so, in fact, he’ll even tolerate you smashing some cake on him if you feel a bit giddy that night! Shaking his head, he just smiles and laughs it off. It is your birthday, after all, and he is plenty used to the old antics of his friends!

Legolas

You expect a surprise, ironically, knowing Legolas’s air of teasing mystery, and sure enough he whisks you away nearly as soon as he can. Any questioning fails utterly, but at least you get to see Legolas’s dark eyes glitter with mischief as he tells you you’ll see. In the end you’re taken to a little paradise all your own, a treetop canopy with a scenic view. “And of course you have your cake,” he teases, remembering how important it was to you. You’re still in awe of the view, jaw slack at the horizon of endless green blending into the blue sky with its sparse puffs of cloud. It’s amazing, utterly so and you tell him, but the woodland prince insists that the most amazing part of this all is you. Your birth, your entry into the world those years ago, means more to him than he can ever truly convey.

Boromir

Such ambition! Boromir asks you to describe your dream day and vows to give it to you. Taking a boat ride? He’ll find a way. Having a joust? He would be honored to be your partner. A party with your friends? Simply give him the notice and he will invite them all to a grand event! He understands that cake is traditional so he commissions the best of his father’s bakers for yours. All the while of the merriment Boromir’s arm is slung about your waist, his eyes and grin loving as they fix firmly upon you. You may have to restrain him, for he’ll want to hoist your arm up and call out your praises in front of everybody! He definitely tries to be understanding if these ideas make you anxious, however, toning down the party in his mind to a candlelit dinner for two. Hm, yes, perhaps some romance would be a good way to spend your birthday after all….

Gimli

Pretends he forgot. His jaw drops, lips widening into an o shape as he asks oh, was that today? Today of all days? …Followed immediately by mischievous he-he-hes of laughter as he reaches into some pocket or another and pulls out a box. “I jest, of course? You think I would forget the most important of days, the birth of my fairest One? Not in the slightest! Go on, open it up!” Inside is none other than a piece of your favorite type of jewelry, clearly handmade and beautifully custom crafted. Gimli made it himself of course, not a single other dwarf laying a hand on it. “Just like you,” he jokes as you embrace and pull his lips into yours. As far as any other celebration of course he wants to scream it from the hills and drink and dance the night away with you, but if you want no fanfare Gimli will simply walk with you anywhere you go, still telling everyone it’s your birthday, before taking you home for a more private celebration. Hopefully still some drinks and dancing, even if it’s just you two. And something else? Well, he would give you everything you want on your special day, just ask and he is yours…

Frodo

You’ll awake to a pair of the most loving blue eyes you’ve ever seen upon you. Soon as he knows you’ve risen, Frodo reaches over to caress your face, a smile creeping onto his lips before he kisses your forehead. “Good morning, my love. How would you like to spend your day?” Anything you request within reason will be yours. The weather cooperates, luckily, so if you wish to take a walk on the edges of the Shire or take to the market opportunity is availed to you. Frodo will organize a party if you wish it, inviting only your closest friends and family and hoping he’ll be your only dance partner for the evening! Encourages you to be the one to cut your cake, nodding eagerly towards it with a big smile. He spent ages on your gift, a hand-illustrated and bound volume of your favorite story he made with his uncle Bilbo.

Sam

Spends a whole day making your cake himself. It has to be perfect, your favorite flavor and lots of edible flowers to make it pretty! Sam is very sweet with you, absolutely doting on you all day and insisting you don’t lift a finger. Even going so far as to romantically carry you over thresholds if he can. The most loving eyes fall onto you as he asks what you want to do, flushing if you make any more scandalous suggestions and agreeing eagerly, readying himself to pull off the bed and onto your next adventure. It’s the end of the night, naturally, when he insists on cutting you a big slice of your cake and showering you with gifts ranging from flowers to a new one of your favorite comfort items to a special piece of craftsmanship from his elven friends! Party or no, Sam will share a lantern-lit dance with you that night and will be telling you how much he loves you and is grateful you were born all day!

Merry

The type to suggest celebrating on your birthday, if you catch his drift. Loves your eager reaction or if you smack him and tease back, both is good. Morning or evening, he won’t be picky! But in all seriousness, this calls for a celebration and by the stars you are getting one! Merry will have the whole of the Green Dragon singing your praises and wishing you well that night, not to mention being ready with a cake and a hearty meal! All day he’s walking around with the proudest smile and a hand around your waist. His gift to you is the perfect mix of pretty and practical, a gorgeously embroidered coat with bejeweled buttons that had to have cost a lot, but he assures you it’s worth it with a kiss to your forehead and another happy birthday.

Pippin

Writes it down so he doesn’t forget what day it is, then sets himself to work planning you a party! If you don’t like large events then instead of a massive Shire celebration he’ll throw something in your yard or the Tooks will rent out the Green Dragon for a night with all your friends. During the day, though? Pippin refuses to share you, no sir. All his attention is on you from the moment he surprises you with a big breakfast to when he sets aside the dishes. Even getting ready for the day he’ll pamper you, running you a bath and jumping in with you too of course! A picnic lunch in a field of waving wildflowers, lots of shared kisses beneath the sun, and a bouquet hand-picked just for you await! Tells anyone who runs across you that it’s his beloved’s birthday, you know. Your favorite gift this year is a scarf, one quite similar to Pippin’s but in your favorite color instead, the one you wear most. He had his mother make it for you just like the cake! Warning: Pippin will want to hand-feed you some cake and may see about smashing just a teensy bit up by your nose. If you really hate that he won’t, but if you retaliate? Well, your cake fight may turn into another bath for you two and then who knows from there…

Faramir

His brother was always the better one at this, an internal voice tells Faramir, but that makes it all the more exciting, especially because Boromir is happy to help him execute his plan! You are completely unsuspecting of the brothers’s scheme as you pry open the doors to the chamber Faramir asked you to meet him in, lops parting widely in shock at the crowd awaiting you. They all wish you a happy birthday as one, just as your family did for you in your youth. Tears fill your eyes at the sight of the gathering, but you are quickly swept into Faramir’s loving arms. He doesn’t let go of your hand for the entire night, either.

Eomer

Good luck getting out of bed that morning! Eomer will be upon you from the moment you arise, showering you with affection and ministrations of your every need and desire. He insists he can even do the cooking, which he does not usually undertake, but when you finally do arise for a meal you find quite a hearty selection awaiting you. From there Eomer takes you out for a ride, insisting you share a horse so he can hold you close and keep you blindfolded- no need to ruin the surprise so early, hm? You feel the incline before you see it, obviously, but after your mount slows Eomer lifts you up and sets you down to restore your sight. The fabric drops to reveal a flowered hill and a gorgeous view of the blue sky, both of which pale in comparison to the sight of Eomer knelt before you, telling you your birthday is a day of new beginnings. Asking then if you’ll grant him the new beginning of a married life with him?

Eowyn

Bless her soul, she makes you a cake. You can imagine how that goes. Looking at it with trepidation, you eagerly pull her to your day’s activities, saving that for the end of the night anyway. Rather, your focus is on the freedom you have to celebrate, taking a ride just to feel the wind in your hair and laugh with abandon at Eowyn’s side. Nearing your ride’s end she lays down a blanket and carries you down upon it, unpacking a meal for you to share as you watch the sunset. You will celebrate with friends and family, certainly, but this day is for you two. Laughter ensues further as you both choke on the cake, agreeing it’s no good but you assure her you love that she made it nonetheless, tackling her down upon the spread fabric with teasing, affectionate kisses. Giggling, she practically peels you off to give you your gift: a sword emblazoned with the Riddermark’s most gorgeous flowers.

Haldir

Haldir was never one to celebrate birthdays. It just never occurred to him to do anything beyond well wishes. So imagine his surprise when you began pondering what kind of cake you’ll make, if your elven neighbors would come for a party. Party? Of course, you say? Raucous celebrations were more characteristic of those in Mirkwood, but for you, Haldir realized with a smile the next time you were in his arms, he would lace up his dancing shoes. Insisting on handling the cake, he enlists Lothlórien’s finest baker, the one who crafts for Galadriel herself, to make you a gorgeous dessert that sits at your celebration’s center. He lets you teach him a dance or two and performs one you both know, letting loose and even just laughing in simple joy. Your gift is his favorite part of the evening, a mantle crafted of the strongest material that will keep you safe and looking beautiful as you always do in his eyes.

Galadriel

Oh, you are going to be pampered. The most beautiful sunlight kissing your skin as Galadriel whispers good morning, caressing your cheek and pulling you into her lips. Spending the morning exactly how she knows you like before treating you to a day of luxury. Healing massages for you both, a ride upon Lothlórien’s boats until you moor at the base of a great waterfall, the power of your love’s ring parting the waterfall as she beckons you into a wonderfully dry and decorated hollow. Therein you share a meal and each other’s company, whispered words of how much you mean to each other and all your desires shared before you are gifted a necklace bearing the great works and designs of Lórien- but most importantly engravings of Galadriel’s love for you hidden beneath the metal swirling around its white stone.

Elrond

Having a complicated family history himself, Elrond takes the task upon his own shoulders to show others compassion, comfort, and most of all senses of belonging and being loved. Of course this extends to your birthday! He wishes you well from the first and tells you what a blessing you are, how you surprise him with your strength and warm him with your smile every day. And do not doubt that you’ll be treated to the most luxurious of baths and Elrond washing and styling your hair for you. Following that is an afternoon lavished with gifts, jewelry and art and all you could ask for. That night, Elrond brings you up to the highest point in all of Rivendell to stargaze and so he can hold you and sway with you beneath the lights that looked down upon and symbolized his ancestors.

Arwen

Unless you specifically request the opposite, she’ll steal you away completely. Gone are you from the many eyes which could fall upon you, gone far off hand in hand with your beloved. Riding away to a secluded hollow where you and Arwen can be free, be yourselves. Lay in each other’s arms, weave flowers in each other’s hair, and flush joyfully and bashfully when she reaches up to feed you by hand, her own face a playful grin. Each kiss she gives you is deep, languid, intent, her hands falling to you as if to hold you there forever, but you mind not being bewitched so by her. Whispers of how grateful she is for your birth shared between your lips until they are joined again. Arwen’s gift to you is a ring, one that bears words of her own writing within its band. My love for all time.

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[anika-ann]

Thirst for Life (As It Is) - S.R.

Type: one-shot, established relationship, next-to-zero plot

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word Count: 3,7k

Summary: You loved him for it; you hated it. You were still coming to terms with it, still learning to accept and believe that he damn-well meant it when he said he would always fight tooth and nail to come back to you.

You’d count your blessings; you celebrated his efforts by being the very home he was to you to him and if you could sooth his pain in any way you knew, as a physical therapist, as his lover, as a human being, you would.

A slice of life kind of fic, a moment of love life of Steve Rogers and his beloved.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, fingering, oral (F rec), allusions to penetrative sex, brief mention of canon typical injuries, briefest allusions to angst, FLUFF, dorks in love

A/N: Super belated entry for Stevie BB 200 Followers Celebration Writing Challenge hosted by @steviebbboi. Thank you for hosting and congrats again💕 I got inspired by the prompt Aw, does it feel good right here?🤭

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @saradika-graphics; enjoy y'all 🥰

Lips pressing to heated skin; to entice, to sooth the burning.

Fingertips dancing over strained muscles. Body arching into the touch.

A silent blissful keen escaping.

A sinful whisper.

“Aww, is that the spot, love? Does it feel good right there?"

A blatant, wicked tease, rewarded by a breathless curse spilling from parted lips, a soundless complaint.

Unable to help yourself, you giggled, kissing the spot again, earning a grunt – a sound of protest and approval alike.

“Just you wait…” Steve muttered, annoyed and somewhat fond at once, groaning when you pressed with your fingers this time, feeling the tight knot right under his right shoulder blade as if growing thicker to rebel against your care. “And this isn’t funny.”

You licked your lips, biting back to fight another laugh and losing anyway.

“Come on, Steve… it’s a little funny.”

It was a little funny.

Steve Rogers, a mighty supersoldier, all muscle and broadness, filling the space of the large bed. A paragon of strength and justice, shoulders wide enough to carry the weight of the world, his heart a shield for those who needed protection, his shield the heart of the Avengers. A seemingly fearless leader, a strategic mastermind, an excellent fighter; the embodiment of masculinity and power and righteousness and love.

All that and more – brought to its knees by a pulled muscle.

Of course, if it were up to Steve only, he would not even let this slow him down, not in the slightest, let alone bring him down his knees. Oh no.

It was your gentle offer; a soft touch of a hand, a sweet promise, a confession and a plea on your lips.  

“Let me help, love.”

A gaze of mutual affection exchanged; a kiss to his lips to seal the deal with tenderness you knew your might have to abandon if you wanted to help set his body right.

It was a little funny.

The huge hunk of supersoldier muscle, turned into a puddle of a man under your touch. You treated him with as much skill as you would any other client or a patient of yours, if perhaps with a little softer care and with considerably less professionalism.

Obviously, Steve was not your usual client or patient; Steve Rogers was infinitely much more to you. The love radiating from the depth of your heart turned tangible in his proximity; undeniably present in your touch, be it your hands or your lips trying to sooth the pain, be it you straddling his hips which seemed almost absurdly narrow in comparison of the enormity of his shoulders, be it your words of affection or gentle teasing.

Obviously, Steve was not your usual client or patient; most of those who came in specifically with a pulled muscle were there because they had been helping a friend moving furniture, overestimated themselves in a gym, or snapped their head to the side too fast.

Your boyfriend of almost one year, on the other hand, had pulled a muscle when lifting a goddamn car off of someone to whose rescue he had rushed to.

Pressing against the knot, gently but firmly enough to make Steve groan – a sound of complaint bleeding into one of gratitude as you gradually released the pressure – you allowed the piece of information about him having practically lifted a car wash over you again, the astonishment at absurdity and curiosity of life fresh as if it was something entirely new to you.

But it wasn’t. It most definitely wasn’t the first time you had been confronted with this part of who Steve was. It wasn’t the first time you were confronted with how much the serum had enhanced his strength and possibly stubbornness, with what he did for living and how, or with the insistent calling in his very soul to help and serve and be nothing but a profoundly good man. It was hardly the first time and yet you guessed it would never cease to amaze you.

His good heart and his kind soul. His brilliant mind and his incredible body. A man all strong and resilient, but not invincible, not unbreakable.

And perhaps that was where the laugh was coming from – the reason why you couldn’t quite help yourself but tease him, why you couldn’t quite stop giggling.

The relief.

Because Steve Rogers – one of the greatest heroes of your time and the past alike – coming back home with only a pulled muscle was nothing short of a miracle, and this was how your strained body and mind expressed the utter, overwhelming relief coursing your veins.

Because Steve came home. Home to you.

Another day, another save.

Another day he could have caught a knife to his gut or to his neck. Another day he could have caught a bullet an inch from his heart or straight through. Another day he could have been taken and tortured for information or for the twisted fun of hurting Captain America.

None of that had happened.

Instead, it was another day Steve came home to you in one piece. Even if tired and with a pulled muscle.

You’d count your blessings, over and over, more so since you knew how and why he had pulled that muscle; gold of heart and dumb of ass, he couldn’t have waited for someone to come help him, not when the man who had been pinned under a damn car was so clearly and understandably in pain.

Steve’s mind was a brilliant thing, coming up with impenetrable strategies, with a plan B for the plan B and with a plan C and D just in case, carefully predicting outcomes and calculating risks; sometimes he just got bad at math when calculating risks for himself when he couldn’t bear seeing others suffer.

You loved him for it; you hated it. You were still coming to terms with it, still learning to accept and believe that he damn-well meant it when he said he would always fight tooth and nail to come back to you.

You’d count your blessings; you celebrated his efforts by being the very home he was to you to him and if you could sooth his pain in any way you knew, as a physical therapist, as his lover, as a human being, you would.

And he’d let you, even if the first time you had met had certainly not been the case. Not with him having been dragged in, after having his knee busted in a fight, arguing that he did not need anyone’s help, because he was enhanced by the supersoldier serum and his body had always healed on its own. You wouldn’t have it; you had met all the unwilling patients and sceptics. So you took one glance at the man who had literally dragged him in – his best friend, Bucky Barnes, seemingly more exhausted by his attitude than by the fact he had been carrying a significant weight of the huge pile of muscle Steve Rogers was – and then took another look at the man behind the shield himself, before you listed all the muscles, tendons and bones that would have begged him to differ in reaction to such claim.

To this day, you were not quite sure whether it had been your knowledge or your ability to simply not have his attitude that had impressed him more, but later you would find out his attitude was more about him feeling like others needed your help more than him and less about him questioning your field or expertise. That had mattered to you; what mattered also was that Bucky was never going to let you or Steve live your so-called meet-cute down, claiming he knew right away Steve had fallen in love the very second.

So you’d count your blessing and you’d let yourself feel whatever came, and you’d let yourself be consumed by the love with gratitude and thirst for life as it was.

You let yourself laugh again even as Steve grumbled under you, muttering something about maybe deserving it. You appreciated the self-awareness. You appreciated him.

You smiled as you let your hands roam with purpose, warm touch mapping out his pains and still taking moments to caress and indulge in exploring his body, cherishing the beautiful view of the expanse of his back and the feel of his strength yielding to your care with endless trust.

“I feel a little less treated and little more objectified at this point,” he muttered, a smile evident in his voice even before your gaze flickered to his face, now turned to side as he rested his cheek on the back of his hand.

One corner of your lips rose higher, barely a flicker of shame in your chest. You’d never violate a patient or a client like that; but you’d also never miss a chance to feel closer to Steve, miss a chance to touch him, to cherish the contact and to make him feel loved.

“Is there a complaint you’d like to submit, sir?” you questioned, a wide smile setting on your lips as he hummed in disapproval.

Still, you finished the treatment with a last few strokes that were indeed more of a gentle closing than anything else, climbed off of him and pulled the blanket over his naked back to keep the muscles warm.    

He blinked his eyes open as you sat by his side on the bed, leaning in to kiss his forehead.

The second he reached out his hand to hold you, you clicked your tongue disapprovingly, making him huff but obediently stop his progress.

“You know the rules, Steve. Stay still for a bit, let the body process. I’ll bring you some fluids.”

He sighed, squinting at you with adorable defiance. “I do know… I don’t have like it. Maybe just a minor complaint then.”

You grinned, leaning closer to him on the pillow, feeling your heart tremble in thorough warmth as he observed you with sleepy intent and a look closest to adoration you had ever seen.

“What’s that, Captain Rogers?” you whispered conspiratorially.

“I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”

You relaxed into the mattress, shoulders slumping, heart a second from melting as the lightest and most delightful feeling spread through your veins, a rush so powerful it almost chased tears into your eyes.

To care and be cared for; to love and be loved, so utterly you had never believed it possible until you met Steve Rogers, most certainly the love of your life.

Reaching out, your fingertips lightly caressed his cheek, his eyelids slipping shut; you brushed over the arches of his brows, over the slope of his nose, over his lips – instantly pursing for a light kiss to your fingers – and caressed his scalp, only to meet his gaze again, so tender you felt something inside your soul shift and shudder in pure happiness.

“I know you will when I need it,” you assured him, bringing a ghost of a smile to his face. “And I’m pretty sure that’s the idea. That we’re supposed to be taking care of each other, love.”

A sparkle lit up his tired eyes, his smile turning positively goofy.

“I like that,” he whispered.

“Good,” you said, pressing another kiss to his forehead and climbing to your feet. “Now be a good patient and stay still for a bit, just like everyone else… no matter how special you are to me.”

“Mmm, if you say so… I love you.”

You fought the urge to lie next to him, reminding yourself that if you got him fluids now, you could lie with him and bask in his warmth later and with no interruptions.

“I love you too, Steve.”

By the time you got back, hands clean of the essential oil and full with a mug of tea and a tall glass of water, you found him fast asleep, still on his front, arms hugging his pillow.

Not bothering to fight off your smile this time, you set the mug on the nightstand, tucked the blanket higher to his chin and climbed up to the bed to sit and prop up on the headboard.

You reached for the engagement ring you had taken off for the massage first and put it back where it belonged, and only then for your half-read book, gaze once more flickering to man who had stolen your heart and would never give it back.

Attention divided, you read; but mainly you kept your future husband company, watching over his peaceful and more than deserved sleep.

Because that was what you were supposed to do; watch over each other, look out for one another, and take care of each other.

And in a few months, you’d promise to continue doing that with love for the rest of your lives, swearing so in front of your friends and families.

Lips pressing to heated skin; to entice, to sooth the burning.

Fingertips dancing over strained muscles. Body arching into the touch.

A silent blissful keen escaping.

A sinful whisper.

“Aww, is that the spot, love?” he teased, every syllable dripping off his lips rich and heady like honey, and even with your eyes fluttered shut, you could see his beautifully wicked smile, the spark in his eyes that shone dark, lit alive in a way that was reserved for you; and only for you. “Does it feel good right there?"

You recognized the echo of your own words, Steve’s voice coloured with sweet vindication. He knew exactly what he was doing and he revelled in it; you would protest and complained again if your lips remembered how to speak beyond Steve’s name and breathless pleas. You would protest if you truly wanted to and he would stop in an instant. You would protest if your hands were not literally tied.

Again, unlike your other patients, all Steve had needed was your skilled touch and a good rest. A few hours of sleep, Erskine’s serum working its magic and he had been good to go; perhaps not for another mission, not for a training session, but for repaying your service with love and adoration and desire.

Hugging your middle after waking up, resting his head over your thigh, he had sent a single glance up at you and you had very well forgotten what you had been reading.

He had kissed your palms in thank you, one and then the other, lingering with his gaze and his lips, and you had already been forgetting your own name.

He had pressed a kiss to your wrists, wrapping them in satin like a precious gift, smiling as he had to ruck up the sleeves of his very shirt you had chosen to wear to bed to do so.

He had ghosted his lips over your fingertips as he tied your wrists to the headboard, making sure you rested your hands, the most important asset for your work; conveniently putting your engagement ring on display for him to see at all times while doing so.

He had met your lips in a kiss so sultry you barely caught your breath, before they strayed over every inch of newly revealed skin as he unbuttoned the shirt, lingering in all his and your favourite places, hands roaming, caressing, holding, owning.

You arched against his mouth when he reached his prize, forearm draping over your middle, keeping you grounded as he lifted you towards the stars once, almost for the second time, until his fingers joined to show off his own talented touch and to bring you to the brink of madness.

“Did not quite catch that, sweetheart,” he muttered to the burning skin of your inner thigh, rendering you speechless with his tongue before you could catch your wits and answer. “I suppose I should try again…”

“Steve-“

“Right here, love… give me one more. Let me take care of you… you said you knew I would take care of you when you’d need it, didn’t you? Do you need it now, love?”

Steven Grant Rogers, you little shit- was the thought that flew through your head so fast you couldn’t hope to catch it let alone verbalize it. Not with how your head was beginning to spin when his lips, his hands, his wicked tongue and seemingly innocent filthy talk carried by his deep voice overwhelmed your senses and chased you higher and closer to your peak with every passing torturous second.

“Yes-“ was what actually spilled from your lips breathily, followed by a keen of please.

“Then be good and stay still.”

Steve’s dark mischievous gaze met yours, the erotic sight of him between your legs, wide shoulders barely fitting, with his palm sprawled to your belly and seemingly enjoying himself thoroughly was your undoing, along with things he did and you could not hope to put into words; not when your vision whited out with a cry of his name and wave of numbing bliss washing over you and pulling you under.

You were trying to catch your breath as he let you ride out your high, firm, wet languid kisses pressed to your thighs, your stomach, your breasts with just a graze of teeth to both increase your pleasure and to satisfy the man who loved to get lost in exploring your body and consuming you whole.

When his lips finally met yours again, you did not care you still hadn’t quite earned enough oxygen, whimpering against the demanding kiss as Steve’s fingers curled just to press at the spot again, while he casually rested his weight on his elbow, left hand interlacing his fingers with yours to feel the ring he had slipped on your finger just a few weeks ago.

“Love you so much, sweetheart. Love seeing you like this, so beautiful, so blissed out and so, so mine��” he whispered, voice hoarse as if he had been the one to crying out in ecstasy.

“I love you too, Steve.”

Instinctively moving to touch him, to keep him closer, you tugged at the soft fabric around your wrists, huffing in frustration when all you could do was squeeze Steve’s hand tighter.

“Hands, love?” you pleaded, arching your body against his, hovering too high for your taste even when your bare chest brushed his, your body drinking hungrily the heat which his own was radiating. “Want to touch you.”

“Anything for you, love.”

As thoroughly distracting as his lips were, pressing back to yours as he blindly loosened the knots, your hands sprang the moment you were free, sighing as the utter delight at holding onto your lover flooded every cell of your body, fingers raking through his hair, digging into his back to pull his closer to your embrace.

His lips eased the pressure, nose bumping yours, fingertips brushing your cheek tenderly, his smile as sweet as sinful, and when you blinked your eyes open, you couldn’t but bask in the blinding light of adoration shining in Steve’s blown pupils.

“You alright, sweetheart? Can you take more?”

The question nor the concern were new; yet they tasted as lovely as Steve’s smile when he leaned in to kiss you again.

You ran your hand down the lovely expanse of his back, pressing to meet his hardness, a wordless agreement.

“Yes, just… be careful.”

Steve’s lips parted from yours with a wet pop, genuine worry instantly overtaking his features, his weight easing from your body – almost making you regret what you were about to say when he’d inevitably ask-

“Are you hurting? Did I do anything-“

“I’m fine, Stevie…” you assured him, brushing a lose strand away from his forehead, smoothening the crease that formed there, your wildly pounding heart shivering from his tender care for you, his consideration, his willingness to walk away from chasing his own pleasure and just hold you should you wish so for whatever reason.

You pressed a soft kiss to his lips, his frown only deepening with disapproval as he probably thought you were about to downplay whatever it was that bothered you, what he had done to hurt you or was causing you pain – like Mr. Hypocrite, your softest, biggest love.

“No need to worry, Steve. I just want you to be careful, you know… you might pull a muscle and need medical and fluids after.”

A beat of silence, bated breaths.

And then you were bursting out with laughter at Steve’s scandalized expression, the sound blending into a yelp as he grabbed you by the hips and lifted you to the air. He stood up in a whirlwind of a movement, spinning you until your back hit the wall, blow softened by his palm while his other moved under your bottom, fingers digging to your flesh, pinning you to the hard surface by his hips, his chest, and mainly by his lips crashing against yours, stealing the laughter from you very lungs, drinking your love from the very bottom of your heart.

He nipped at your bottom lip, hips bucking against yours, his voice a sultry promise you couldn’t wait for him to make good on; for all the teasing, you knew that indeed, your Steve would have caring for you at the forefront of his mind. You could feel his love undeniably present in his touch, be it his hands or his lips, be it his words of affection or the gentle, exhilarating threats:

“Oh just you wait, love… we’ll see who’ll need what after I’m done with you… I was so well-taken care of by my future wife, I think I want to start training for our wedding night. And sweetheart,” he whispered, warm breath brushing your ear, “I think it’s time we try to push our record to double digits.”

As a shudder ran down your spine like a livewire, your heart jumping to your throat with how your blissed-out mind scrambled to try to imagine that, you let your body sink into his, counted your blessing, and let yourself feel whatever was about to come.

You let yourself be consumed by love with gratitude and thirst for life as it was.

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider leaving feedback.

May November be kind to you💕

[runninriot]

Loud Like Love

belated entry for @steddiesmuttyseptember week 4

prompts: loud, vibrator | rated E | wc: 2.832 | tags: pre steddie, auralism, voyeurism, masturbation, gay Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson thinks he's straight, self-discovery, implied friends to lovers | complete fic on ao3

Moving in with Steve had definitely been one of his better life choices, maybe even the best. He doesn’t exactly remember when and how they’ve become so close but somehow they just... clicked, formed a friendship that goes beyond anything Eddie had ever experienced before. Eddie likes having Steve around, finds comfort in his presence.

They shouldn’t work the way they do, considering how very different they are. But they do.

Steve, despite his love for all things Eddie hates (like Sports and Pop music, ugh. Really, dude?) is like, the coolest guy he knows. He’s kind and funny, always has his back and never gets mad at him even if Eddie’s being an annoying little shit. He’s his perfect counterpart, the glamour to his grunge.

He’s his best friend and Eddie wouldn’t want to give this friendship up for anything in the world. He loves him. Strictly non-romantically of course, he’s not that kind of guy. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, it’s just not for him. He leaves that to Steve, who never made a big thing out of it, told Eddie right away the day they met that he – quote – loves dicks and if Eddie had a problem with that, he could fuck right off.

Eddie did not have a problem with that, not at all. Still, he remembers how baffled he was. Not so much because of the confession itself but rather because of how bold Steve was. Eddie envies how comfortable he is in his own skin, how open and unapologetically himself. Steve’s proud of who he is, just like he should be, and sometimes Eddie wishes he had just an ounce of his friend’s confidence.

Shame and self-consciousness are words that do not exist in Steve Harrington’s vocabulary. It’s something Eddie learned quite quickly after moving in with him.

Because while Steve hasn’t had much luck in the past when it came to long lasting relationships, he sure as hell has a very active sex life - contrary to Eddie who has neither one nor the other, who’s always on the lookout but never quite interested enough to make even a half-hearted move on the girls he meets because somehow, none of them quite live up to his expectations. There’s always something missing.

Steve doesn’t seem to have that problem, or maybe he’s just not very picky. That’s why Eddie has become used to walking in on a random stranger hanging off Steve’s lips for one last kiss before he kicks them out after he’s had his fill, never to be seen again.

It’s... okay. Eddie doesn’t mind, not really. Is he jealous? Sure, he won’t deny that. He hasn’t been touched or kissed or even casually fucked in forever, so forgive him for maybe, sometimes, staring a little too longingly whenever he catches sight of Steve in the arms of another man – hair tousled, dressed in only his boxers, all fucked-out and tired from not getting any sleep – when he sees his nightly visitor off the next morning.

It makes him yearn for something like that – not the ‘kissing a dude’ part, obviously. But the idea of having another person’s body pressed close to his own makes him turn into a begrudging, green-eyed monster.

Don’t get him wrong, Eddie is happy for Steve, but recently it's become a bit of a problem because-

Steve is loud.

    Fuck, he’s loud. Even with their bedrooms separated by a narrow hallway Eddie can hear him scream and moan and whimper through two closed doors whenever he- well.

They’ve never talked about it and Eddie never complained, never felt the need to bring it up, simply plugged his ears with headphones whenever he woke up to those unmistakable noises, blasting music until he fell back asleep.

But lately, his ability to ignore whatever is going on in the other room has been dwindling.

His involuntary celibacy must really be taking its toll on his sanity. What other explanation could there be for the fact that listening to Steve yell out the words ‘Fuck me! Harder! Right there! Oh god, yes!’ night after night after night has become something close to actual, physical torture?

    Shit, it’s even hard to admit it to himself but godfuckingdamnit, it makes Eddie want to do nasty things. Bad things. Things he should not want to do to the sound of his best friend’s moaning.

The urge to slip a hand into his boxers and fuck his own fist to these noises has become almost unbearable. And what’s even worse, so morally wrong, is the fact that for a couple of weeks now, every time Steve brings home another date, Eddie lies awake and waits. He waits and he listens, fully intentional, unable to stop himself from acting like a fucking creep.

It horrifies him, makes Eddie want to kick himself almost as much as he wants to touch himself.

He knows it’s wrong.

Eddie should probably talk to Steve, tell him to tune it down because he feels like a ticking time bomb about to explode any moment, too close to losing himself, to cross a line he cannot bear to cross.

    Oh god, he needs to get fucked like yesterday. Eddie should go out and find a girl to ride him until his dick falls off, or at least for long enough to satisfy whatever horny Devil has taken a hold on him.

This has to end.

continue reading here

[primejourney]

Hello again!

Well, now I'm posting these out of order lol...But here is my belated entry for the prompt Protect!

As soon as I read the prompt, I was struck by the image of Ingo bravely protecting the main character. (I, too, am a fan of the "Duncle Ingo" concept haha).

I'm not exactly sure of the story here (ambiguity is fun!), but it looks like Akari had a bad run-in with a Zoroark. She's lucky Ingo found her! (Don't worry! They'll be okay!).

More comments under the cut

I originally wanted a shadow of the threatening Pokemon looming onto the rocks behind them, but I wasn't able to figure out how to do that. So, I decided to try to make some fun ghost flames instead and threw in the Zoroark claws. But now I think the paws look kind of silly. (They kind of look like bear paws...). Oh well.

I'd like to color this one day! I definitely want the ghost flames and Ingo's eyes to pop! I imagine his eyes shine in a very cool manner in dramatic moments.

This is the first finished Hisui Ingo drawing I've made so far. Drawing both older and young ingo has made me appreciate their designs more -- it's amazing how a few tweaks in style can make a fella with a simple design look a bit older!

[zu-art]

BrArgWeek Day 2: Heats

They're getting groceries when Lu's heat hits unexpectedly. And he's very demanding ♥

--

I ended up never posting the BW entries here on Tumblr, but Twitter is the least reliable archive place on the internet so I had post here as well eventually. I went into hybernation during December so I'm gonna do it now :D Happy belated BrargWeek I guess???

Rest of the scene under the cut :3

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

A Tale That Wasn't Right

Belated entry for @silmarillionepistolary

2406 words, M, Maedhros/Fingon

Warnings: violence but not very graphic

On Ao3

NOLDÓRAN ARCHIVES PROJECT

MANUSCRIPT 26328-lambe

Records of the Hearing Convened by Finwë Noldóran Concerning the Incident Occurred Between Two Highborn Eldar

Editor’s note: Perhaps one of the most fascinating manuscripts among the royal records, 26328-lambe has been classified for Ages. Only now, well into the Fifth Age, it has finally been released to the public. 

Certainly, the reluctance to publicize these records must be due to the scandalous subject matter and the involvement of highly recognizable figures of the Years of the Trees. We shall refrain from speculations as to the identity of the involved parties and redact or change several identifying details as per the request of King Arafinwë.

The manuscript is also distinguished because of the considerably biased notes of the unnamed scribe, possibly one who did not continue their service for long. Despite their unconventional approach to their role, we have this scribe to thank for the preservation of the very first draft of the records.

Without further ado, we invite the reader to peruse the records and draw their own conclusions.  

At the second hour of the Mingling of [precise date omitted], the Noldóran convened a private hearing, concerning an altercation between two highborn Eldar that has been brought to the Noldóran’s attention. 

Present at the meeting

Finwë Noldóran

[redacted], tavernkeeper of the tavern [redacted] in Tirion

Finwë Noldóran’s humble scribe

Noldóran: Let us begin. Tavernkeeper, I would hear all that occurred between [title omitted] N and [title omitted] F.

Tavernkeeper: Where should I begin, lord?

Noldóran: When did you first notice their presence at your tavern?

Tavernkeeper: Immediately, lord. It was the first time such highborn lords visited my establishment. [Title omitted] F was the first to arrive. He sat in a corner and ordered [drink name omitted to avoid identification]. I did not know how to make it. He kindly explained it to me. He was three cups in when [title omitted] N joined him.

Editor’s note: Henceforth, the omission of the titles will not be mentioned. Let it be noted that the involved parties were addressed appropriately throughout the hearing.

Noldóran: Did you notice any enmity between them when N arrived?

Tavernkeeper: Not at all! F did look ill-pleased at seeing N, but I assumed it was due to N’s tardiness. N whispered something into F’s ear, which seemed to appease him.

Noldóran: How so?

Tavernkeeper: After, well, the whispering, F smiled and ordered more drinks. [Drink name omitted] for himself again and simple mead for N.

Scribe’s note: Only a son of [redacted] would drink such an abomination. 

Noldóran: Could you perhaps hear parts of their conversation?

Tavernkeeper: I would not presume to eavesdrop on a conversation between such highborn lords.

Noldóran: Not even if it was to the benefit of your king?

Tavernkeeper: Alas, the tavern was busy, lord, and they spoke in very low voices, so I missed the beginning of their discussion.

Noldóran: So you mean to say you heard the ending, the part before the incident.

Scribe’s note: If this tavernkeeper does not hurry up and tell the interesting  parts, I may die of boredom in front of the King and embarrass myself and my entire family.

Tavernkeeper: They stayed long after the tavern emptied. I must say, lord, they had drunk quite a lot, so their voices were raised. I did not eavesdrop on purpose.

Noldóran: I do not fault you, tavernkeeper. Do recount the argument arising between N and F.

Editor’s note: To make for easier reading, the argument is relayed here directly. Readers must trust that they shall miss only a great amount of hesitation by the tavernkeeper to report to the King the exact details of the conversation and the number of drinks N and F consumed meanwhile, which is high.

F: It has always been your greatest fault! N: Loyalty? F: Loyalty to the wrong person. N: Who would the right person be then? [long silence] N: It is not in your nature to avoid a question. F: Why speak if you know the answer well? N: You cannot fathom what you demand of me. F: Only to do the right thing. Is it too much to ask for? N: Ever you have shown nothing but contempt to my father. You do not know him as I do. F: You are blind to his faults. N: I am not. But, unlike you, I am familiar with his virtues, too. F: Any virtue he possesses pales before his vices. N: Is it not unfair to speak so when you have made no attempt to understand him? F: He deserves none. N: Do I? Do it for my sake. I would do it for you. I have done it for you. F: It was not for me. You had taken a liking to my father long before I was born. He is easy to love. N: How naive for someone who claims to know others with no effort. You say I am blind to my father’s faults, yet you see none in yours. F: He has none. N: I can name one. Just now, he made you lie to me and to yourself. F: My father is blameless in this! N: Of course, only mine is to blame for everything. F: What is the use of seeing his faults if you do nothing about them? N: What do you expect me to do? F: I told you. The right thing. N: Why did you summon me here? We are only repeating ourselves again and again. We shall never agree. F: If only you were less stubborn. N: I am no more stubborn than you. Why should I be the one to relent? What will you sacrifice? F: Have I not sacrificed enough? Have I not endured your father’s scorn without protest? Have I not stayed by your side through all of it? N: What a great sacrifice it must be for you to stay by my side! Have you overlooked that I did the same? Or perhaps you believe it is easier for me? F: If it is not, then we both know who to blame. I suppose I must be grateful you have gathered enough courage to even agree to speak with me. Have you told your father where you will be? N: Have you told yours? F: You give me no answer as expected, but I shall answer you. I have not only because my father has no perverse need to keep watch over his children’s every move. He is not cowardly enough to look for betrayal where there is none. N: You will not call my father a coward! Have I ever treated your father with such disdain? F: Why would you? He does not deserve it. N: But mine does? F: Doesn’t someone who belittles others to hide his own weakness, who is craven enough to forge weapons in secret, deserve to be treated with contempt? N: Do not speak so, I warn you. F: What will you do? Leave and shun me as always? Disregard my letters and flee when I try to visit? Run to your father to assure him of your loyalty, so you can stave off his bitterness and suspicion for a while longer? 

Noldóran: Do go on! What happened then?

Tavernkeeper: I hesitate, lord, for even now, I can scarcely believe it.

Noldóran: Nevertheless, I would hear it.

Tavernkeeper: After those words, N, well, he struck F.

Noldóran: Struck him?

Tavernkeeper: He did. A mighty fist against F’s jaw.

Noldóran: Are you certain that it was N who struck first?

Tavernkeeper: Quite certain, lord. I must say I had lost count of the cups they had both drunk by that point.

Scribe’s note: Liar! It does not sound like N. Although, the son of [redacted] would have deserved it.

Noldóran: Please continue. Spare no detail.

Tavernkeeper: The blow was strong enough that F fell from his chair. They both looked as astounded as I was. I thought N wished to offer a hand to F, but instead, he turned back and moved to the door. That was when F pounced on him and brought him down. They tumbled together, grappled, and shoved each other against the walls. They damaged five chairs and two tables during their brawl as well as all the cups and plates that were on them. F twisted N’s wrist in an attempt to restrain him, but N wrapped F’s braids around his other hand and wrenched him away. They were on the floor once again by then. N tried to rise, but F took a broken chair leg and hurled it towards N. It hit the mark rather painfully. In response, N threw a half-empty goblet at F, which missed his head but drenched his hair in ale.

Editor’s note: The sketch of King Finwë with his head in his hands is presumably drawn by the scribe.

Noldóran: What then?

Tavernkeeper: They must have exhausted themselves because they remained lying on the floor for a while. I was afraid to approach them, but I also hesitated to leave in case they resumed their fight.

Noldóran: Did they?

Tavernkeeper: No… They did something else.

Noldóran: …what was it?

Tavernkeeper: F sat and helped N up. N said something to F in a very low voice. F answered. I could not hear the words. And then they… They kissed, lord.

Noldóran: A kiss between friends?

Tavernkeeper: I would not say so.

Scribe’s note: This does sound like N.

Noldóran: Did you see what happened after the so-called kiss?

Tavernkeeper: No, lord. I hurried to leave. That was all I saw, I swear.

Noldóran: Thank you, tavernkeeper. I believe it goes without saying that what we have spoken about must remain within the walls of this hall. Of course, you shall be compensated generously for your losses. Scribe, there is no need to record this part.

Scribe: As you command, Noldóran.

Tavernkeeper: No word shall leave my lips, lord.

Noldóran: You have my gratitude.

Scribe’s note: Future generations of the Noldor, I shall have your gratitude for making and preserving these records. Glory to the House of [redacted]!

***

Fingers run between disheveled braids, smoothing them with gentleness in stark contrast with the violence they had yanked at them. Inhale. The faint perfume of almond oil wafts through the heavy scent of ale. They do not mix well. Maitimo says so.

“Who could have guessed?” Findekáno says dryly.

Maitimo’s fingers continue their tender way through Findekáno’s braids. Findekáno closes his eyes, his head turning where Maitimo guides him, willingly this time.

Languidly, he raises a hand and runs it – feather-light – across Maitimo’s face, across his left cheekbone where a hideous bruise is already forming.

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

“Yes.”

Findekáno leans forward and retraces the path of his fingers with his lips, leaving a faint trail of red across Maitimo’s cheekbone. Maitimo’s eyes fall shut, his breath stutters. Findekáno takes Maitimo’s hand – the same one that split his lip open – and kisses the bloodied knuckles. Maitimo’s fingers entwine with Findekáno’s – a movement so familiar and practiced that it is almost an instinct.

Findekáno raises his head and presses his lips to Maitimo’s, but the moment Maitimo deepens the kiss, Findekáno pulls back with a hiss.

“It is bleeding again,” Maitimo says with dismay.

He takes a dampened rag and taps it tenderly against Findekáno’s lip, careful to avoid touching his bruised jaw. But Findekáno leans into his hand, his eyelids fluttering in something between pain and relief.

Maitimo undresses him, runs his fingers along his shoulders, caresses his chest, strokes his hips. Bruises are late to bloom and hard to find on Findekáno’s skin, unlike Maitimo, who is already painted red and purple. But Maitimo knows exactly where he had hurt Findekáno – an elbow to the sternum, a closed fist beneath the ribs, shoulders slammed against the edge of a table too many times.

Maitimo explores Findekáno’s body with hesitant touches, soothes his aches, brushes his fingers against the bruises. Does not apologize. The sound of Findekáno’s harsh breathing grows louder and louder until he grabs Maitimo’s hands and turns in his arms.

He bares Maitimo from the waist up in pained, hurried movements as if there is no time left. Maitimo winces when he raises his arms to allow Findekáno to disrobe him.

“Oh!” Findekáno exclaims, staring at the fresh bruise that covers most of Maitimo’s lower rib cage.

“Even inebriated, your aim is true,” Maitimo says.

Findekáno sinks down. Raises a hand to the bruise, then lets it fall. Leans forward and traces the uneven edges of the bruise with his lips, warms it up with his breath, soothes it with his tongue. Does not apologize.

Findekáno begins the work of relieving Maitimo of the rest of his clothing. Maitimo’s hands shake, then his knees, then his shoulders. Findekáno’s lips slide lower, ghost over Maitimo’s groin.

“You did not hurt me there,” Maitimo says, his voice coming out as bruised as his body is.

“How fortunate I still had some sense left,” Findekáno says.

Maitimo laughs, and for the briefest of moments, all pieces fall into their places – Findekáno before him, teasing him gently, making him laugh – so familiar and so right. But the tremors of laughter reach every aching place, reminding him sharply of what they did.

“Wait,” he says.

“Hush,” Findekáno says, holding Maitimo by his unhurt hip.

Maitimo looks down at Findekáno, kneeling on his bruised knees, looks at Findekáno’s swollen lip and beaten face.

“Who would do this?” he asks.

Findekáno draws back.

“Who hurts someone he loves and cherishes in such a cruel way?” Maitimo asks.

“You do,” Findekáno says. His gaze slowly passes over all the angry red marks he has left on Maitimo’s body. “And I.”

Maitimo sits before him.

“Will you swear it will never happen again?” he asks. “Can you give me your word that you will not do it again?”

Findekáno is silent for a moment.

“You cannot either,” he says then.

“No.”

“It is not right.”

“No.”

Findekáno leans his forehead against Maitimo’s. There is a small but painful bump on it from hitting it against a chair. It aches.

“You should leave,” Findekáno says.

“I should.”

“So should I.”

“Yes.”

They sit before each other, bare and bruised, hand in hand, skin to skin, amid the broken cups and chairs, amid the destruction they caused. None moves. 

[ofmdrecaps]

10/20-22/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; Happy very Belated Birthday Rachel House! David Jenkins; Rhys Darby; Taika Waititi; Con O'Neill; Samba Schutte; Vico Ortiz; Kristian Nairn; Nathan Foad; Boris McGiver; Tiny Boats Raffle! Articles; Fan Spotlight; amuseoffyre; Love Notes!

== Happy Birthday Rachel House! ==

Oct 20 was our dear Mary Reed's Birthday! She's been a staple in so many Aotearoa films and TV, and we hope to keep getting to see all her fantastic work for many more years!

Img Src: Screengrab from TheylorSwift Gif

== David Jenkins ==

Chaos Dad has confirmed that the "summer teeth" was Alyssa Lane and Alex Sherman's doing!

Source: David's Twitter

And some love for this OFMD pumpkin!!!

Source: David Jenkins' Twitter

== Rhys Darby ==

Okay so this is really for Rhys AND Taika, and Jemaine-- but Guess what? It's been 10 years since WWDITS 2014 came out! In celebration there's a a limited edition bluray out! I'm still waiting to hear back whether or not it's region free.. because it's got some cool stuff!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Madman (@madmanfilms)

Source: Rhys' Instagram

I didn't see him in the trailer, but it's also been announced that Rhys will be joining Ke Huy Quan and Sean Astin in the new movie Love Hurts coming to theatres on Feb 7, 2025!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Love Hurts (@lovehurtsmovie)

Source: Ke Huy Quan's Instagram

== Taika Waititi ==

Taika was out in Tokyo with Rita for her concert! We got some silly behind the scenes shots of him and Bret from Flight of the Conchords!

Source: Roara Magazine Instagram

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Bret McKenzie (@bretrospective)

Source: BretRospective's Instagram

Also -- more news for Taika -- he helped to Executive Produce all 10 episodes, but also directed one of the episodes! It premieres on Nov 19 on Hulu!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Taika Waititi (@taikawaititi)

Source: Taika's Instagram And in case you haven't seen enough of Taika -- he's out taking selfies with fans!

Source: Instagram

== Con O'Neill ==

For those of you who still have access to Max-- Our Izzy Hands, Con O'Neill showed up episode 5 of The Penquin as Gotham's Chief of Police!

Source: Gotham Chief Twitter

== Samba Schutte ==

Samba's been so busy with interviews about Advanced Chemistry! First up is Beyond the Glam!

Source: Beyond the Glam

Next up is Watch or Pass with Samba and the writer Alec Moore!

Source: Youtube

Not an interview-- but Samba did a voting short that he shared on his Instagram as well!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Samba Schutte (@sambaschutte)

Source: Sambas Instagram

== Vico Ortiz ==

Did any of yall join Vico for Drag Your King this Saturday? I wasn't able to make it but looking forward to the video once it's available! You may already know this-- but Vico has been doing A LOT of voice work lately. They've narrated Metal From Heaven (August Clarke) which you can check out here! They are also the narrator for The Stars Too Fondly!

Are you in LA on October 25th? Hit up the LA Femme Int'l Film Festival where you can see Vico's film Lesbophilia! Get tickets here!

Source: Vico's Instagram Stories

== Kristian Nairn ==

Kristian was digging through some old stuff and found these awesome Wonder Woman Bracelets <3

Source: Kristian's Instagram

Reminder UK Crew! Kristian and Nathan will be at MCM Comic Con in London Oct 25 - 27!

Source: Nathan's Instagram

== Boris McGiver ==

Another trailer for Father Bonnet's new show Teacup! Warning-- it's creepy AND bloody! Just in time for Halloween!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Scott Speedman ✰FANSITE (@sscottyfan)

Source: Boris McGiver's Instagram

== Tiny Boats Raffle ==

Okay so I'm MANY days late on this one-- the Tiny Boats Charity Raffle is up! They've announced all their charities! Wanna learn more on how you can win one of Auntie's tiny boats? Visit their Linktr.ee! Or @ofmd-buys-boats on tumblr! It's super cool that all the charities were chosen by the cast! Here's the Entry Form: TinyCrewBigRaffle Entry Form and Entry Guide!

Source: TinyCrewBigRaffle

== Articles ==

== Fan Spotlight ==

= A Muse of Fyre =

Back again with a new muppet is @amuseoffyre! I can't tell you how damn impressive this Ned Low is! He's practically sinister!

Source: amuseoffyre's Twitter

== Love Notes ==

Hey there lovelies. It's been a long beginning of the week for me.. as you can see I'm several days late again.

I just wanted to send a quick reminder that I badly needed this week.. and that is that we are not defined by our low points.

Sometimes things are not gonna go our way, no matter how much we plan, or try to make them do it, and sometimes we just gotta let the tide take us in a direction until it calms the hell down. When it finally does, you're gonna still be the same kind, and wonderful person you've always been-- maybe with some new outlooks or experiences, or even some new lessons learned. We're never the same person we were the day before, but we can still hold onto the things that make us us. Your kindness, your love, your laughter, and your tears... and so much more. Hard times don't define us lovelies, we define us. I hope this week goes in an upward direction for you, and the tides calm down a bit. Please know, even when I'm not around I'm always thinking of you. Take care <3

Source: The Latest Kate's Tumblr

[ronearoundblindly]

Hit By Fate

a Steve Rogers x Reader life lesson

[This is my own entry for my 1-1-1 Challenge, but also is a very belated gift fic for @itickledthesleepingdragon. May we all remember that we are worth care and consideration!💜] WC 2365

Recommended links: Habibi Through The Years--The Old Guard fandom, Joe/Nicky (Ao3) Invaluable--Star Wars fandom, dad!Obi-Wan

Summary: It's just an accident, and you're totally fine. One handsome man, however, does not agree.

It’s not their fault; it’s just bad luck.

You should have texted to confirm this morning, but since Syd told you she’d text you if anything changed, you didn’t want to pry. Your friends make enough fun of you already for never coming out. You didn’t want to give them one more story in their long list of times you bailed. They already think you’re allergic to fun, so tonight you were going to show them.

You’d rushed to the restaurant after work. You even woke up early to do your hair before work so that you’d still look nice. You brought a purse to transfer your wallet and keys and makeup into so as not to carry your much larger work bag around. You even drank less water the entire afternoon so you wouldn’t be rushing to the restroom and slowing down your cross-city commute.

But then you arrived and there was no reservation.

Not under anyone’s name.

The hostess seemed outstandingly indifferent to your situation. You stepped aside for other patrons, sneaking peeks through the wonky glass dividers to catch a glimpse of your friends at a table maybe, and you texted one.

>>Hey.

<<Whaddup? Tiff replies.

>>You guys here yet?

<<Where?

You give the name of the restaurant and feel your guts crash to the polished wood floor.

<<We were there earlier. Yeah. Why?

Your hands start to shake with anxiety and a touch of rage.

>>I thought we were meeting at 7

The dots show up and disappear. The hostess huffs, staring at you while striking through a line on her paper. You’re blocking one of four total doors to enter the building, but apparently, that’s still taking up too much space.

<<Syd and Karol got off at 4 so we just had drinks early

<<TGIF

<<On a pub crawl now

They know you still work tomorrow. They know you likely would barely drink at dinner. You know exactly why no one would bother asking you if you could get out of work early, and you know they would not try any spontaneous fun for your first time out in months. They didn’t ask because they knew you’d say ‘no,’ or even worse, they knew you’d say ‘yes’ but be uncomfortable the entire time.

You try to call Syd, a last-ditch effort to get a lock on just how drunk or how far away they are. You tell yourself that if they are close and seem relatively coherent (and if the bar serves some small plates of something because you are hungry) then you’ll go. You will absolutely go.

Syd doesn’t pick up. You try Karol. No dice.

Fine. You turn to ask the hostess if there is space at the bar to eat, but she looks at you with such annoyance and a raised finger while she handles a couple who clearly out-rank you in some way.

Defeated, you leave instead.

This whole thing has taken so little time that you’d have to wait another ten minutes for the next bus back. You just walk, staring down at your phone, willing one of them to talk to the other, willing one of them to realize they’ve left you behind.

Do they even care that they’ve done it? Are they even your friends anymore?

The sad part is that you don’t go out much, but these are the friends you go out with the most. It just so happens that’s a few times a year, and that is you trying. This is you pushing yourself.

It’s not good enough.

Just as the WALK sign lights up at the street corner, the dots show back up under Syd’s message, and you shove it closer to your face.

You don’t see it coming.

A cab’s bumper smacks your left leg and bats you sideways. The solid hit feels like a tumble on the ice rink. It spins you, your phone flying out of your hands, and you’re scrambling not to fall. Your muscles tense every which way that’s not natural, probably looking klutzy.

You shoot back up too fast and look around, wondering if people are staring at you now, but the few other people crossing simply walk on by.

The cabbie only rolls down his window.

“You okay?”

Not actively concerned. Not getting out of the car. Not even apologizing.

But if you’d kept walking, you’d be across already. If you weren’t just standing there, the cab would be able to turn and so would the several others behind him.

One honks.

“Fine,” you say quietly, waving him on for emphasis and stepping back to find your phone.

All the effort of the day, all the preparation mentally and physically, and you are stranded on the wrong side of the road, exactly where you started, metaphorically and near-actually run over.

You have to crouch down by the curb and pray your phone didn’t slide into the gutter, wincing at a particular angle that shoots pain up your left thigh. Maybe you aren’t fine.

“Miss?” a tentative, low voice calls above a classic pair of Converses on the sidewalk. “Think this is yours.”

A man in glasses and a ball cap hands your phone back, the screen mercifully intact.

It’s such a tiny blessing in this string of unfortunate events.

The breath you take turns into a whimper and ends in a sniffle. Tears sting your eyes as you start to think about what happened—what really happened—in the past minute.

“Thank you,” you choke out, snatching the device. The gesture seems aggressive after the fact. “Sorry. Thank you,” you try again.

“You okay?” How the same two words can sound so different from two people, you’ll never know, but the difference floors you harder than the car’s impact.

With the utmost care, the stranger’s hands lightly touch your shoulders and guide you out of the road.

“I’m fine.” You’re an automated recording, retreating to a quiet and lonelier space in your mind. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“You got hit by a car,” he says bluntly.

“No, just a—“ you look up into the man’s face, his blond hair, his blue eyes, his strong jaw, his height “—graze.”

“Yeah, you got grazed by four thousand pounds.”

“You’re…” All you can do is point at Captain America’s chest and blink.

He frowns and whispers. “You recognize me?”

Somehow that’s the strange part?

“Shoot. The glasses usually work. Don’t…please don’t make a big deal, but I…I’m sorry I couldn’t pull you out of the way.”

Steve Rogers buries his hands in his jean pockets, folding himself more into the cover of his hoodie and leather jacket.

“You wanted to help me?” you croak.

He ticks his head in confusion, respectfully indicating that you’ve asked the one and only dumb question known to mankind.

“Why?”

You don’t even know what you’re asking about now. Why me? Why today? Why now? Why not? You don’t notice your hands are shaking until he grips them gently.

“I can take you to the hospital,” he offers.

“I’m fine.” The repeat earns you another frown. “I’m not…hurting,” you clarify.

“That’s called shock, sweetheart.”

Steve seems to catch himself and sighs.

“Sorry. What I mean to say is let’s find you some water and somewhere to sit, okay? I’ll check you out then.”

You nod immediately. He’s only half-turned when Steve spins back around.

“Not check you out check you out,” he mumbles, “just like a once over. No, not…” he sighs harder. “I am going to make sure you are alright.” Every word is strategically emphasized.

He leads you to the nearest bench. His head stays down the entire way to a newspaper stand to buy you a bottle of water.

You can tell by the way Steve monitors every move of the bottle to your lips that he fights doing it for you. From his overly attentive posture, you’re surprised he waits a whole minute to ask how you feel yet again.

Still stunned, honestly, but it’s not just your left leg that aches, it’s your whole body. That seems too pathetic to admit aloud, but if you say the ‘fine’-word one more time, he’ll surely carry you to the dang ER. He has that look.

Instead, you admit, “I’m hungry.”

A smile blossoms over his features. “I can help with that.”

The boyish glee with which Steve Rogers walks you (gingerly) to a nearby, hole-in-the-wall pizza parlor is endearing. You’re not a patient for those minutes, and when he orders for you both (there are three lines on the board and that’s the menu) while you claim a teeny tiny booth, you’re not a victim of your day.

When he tells you how he found this place originally, how it’s almost like the pizza he remembers from long ago but better, you’re not alone anymore.

“Were you going to get food when…” Steve trails off.

Maybe it’s the shock wearing too thin to mask the rest. Maybe it’s the hot cheese warming your insides and melting your anger. You spend the next ten minutes blabbing about what happened with your friends and explaining what you were doing when the cab hit you.

“So you weren’t even okay before the car?”

His words throw you for a loop.

“No, I mean, it was just a misunder—“

“You’re doing it again,” he cuts in. “You’re diminishing you in the picture.”

You take a long swig of your soda while staring blankly at him. You watch Steve realize you aren’t even going to impose on him for an explanation. He drops his slice on the plate and holds out his huge hands as props.

“The whole picture of your day, right?” His arms are wide, then he points at things on the table. “You told me about Syd and why it’s ‘fine’ that she changed plans for her own convenience. About Tiffany and Carly—“

“Karol,” you sputter mid-sip.

“Carol, right, sorry. Everyone has a -y in their names now. I just assumed.”

“Karol with a -k,” you add.

Steve…ponders whether that’s some sort of joke before waving his hands to regroup. “You told me how your other friends—using that term loosely—rationalize leaving you to eat or even navigate the city alone—“

“I don’t need a chaperone.”

“Debatable,” he chuckles. “And then you tell me about how the cab driver probably didn’t need the hassle of dealing with some minor injury he inflicted on—and I quote—‘someone.’”

His eyebrow pops up over the rim of his glasses as if that will drive his point home, but you’ve got nothing.

“Where are you in the picture?” he finally blurts. “It’s your time and your effort and your body and your safety, and you just told me everyone else is more important. They all deserve consideration before you in your own life. Including some driver who could have killed you!”

He’s getting visibly agitated the more he talks, and you shrink in the seat, not out of fear but out of guilt for taking an evening of Captain America’s time to yourself. If your friends couldn’t even stand to spend a meal with you, it makes sense that Steve would be annoyed with your company.

“Wait, there,” he points directly at your face, “what was that thought? What did you just think?”

“I—I’m sorry I—“

“What do you have to be sorry for?” Steve asks bluntly.

He must see your eyes glisten with more unshed tears because his whole body visibly softens.

“You showed up at the place you all agreed on—“ he counts on his fingers “—at the time you were told, and walked across a street with right of way.” He does what you are beginning to think of as his signature sigh. “Am I missing something?”

All you can do is chew on your bottom lip.

It takes you what feels like an eternity to notice. “I could have really been hurt,” you mumble finally. “That’s not okay.”

Steve stretches his long arm across the tiny table, opening his palm to await yours.

“I hate to tell you this. You don’t have to be torn open to be ‘really hurt,’ sweetheart.” This time he says the nickname with firm intention. He squeezes your hand. “Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d come to the infirmary with me and get some industrial-grade salve on what’s sure to be a nasty bruise.”

You smile sadly, still pushing away errant thoughts that you’re imposing on the Captain.

“And by the time that’s over…it’ll be time for a late-night dessert before I take you home.”

In the fluorescent light, you can see him blush fiercely.

“As an escort—escort you,” he corrects, “to your door, I mean. For safety.”

He shrugs uncomfortably to adjust his layers of disguise, hanging his head, this time to hide his face from you.

“If you ever wondered why I’d go out to pizza alone,” Steve whispers, “wonder no longer.”

He scoots across his side of the booth to stand.

You think for a long moment.

This is important. This is one of the most important men in the country—nay, the world—begging you to be the protagonist in your own life. He wants you to want that.

You deposit the last grease-crumpled napkin onto the stacked plates and clear your throat. “I like this picture,” you say first, but it’s not enough. It’s not loud enough. It doesn’t hold weight or take up its due space.

You try again.

“I like being in this picture.”

He’s tall and his gleaming white teeth are perfect and his bright blue eyes are framed by long lashes and he’s staring right at you. How could you not shoot your shot?

“I’d—“ you fight the urge to look away “—consider seeing a sequel, too.”

Steve pushes up his fake glasses and nods, still pink in the cheeks. His hesitation reads as shy, not polite, not dutiful.

He juts out an average, hoodie-covered elbow for you to balance on.

“S’pose that means I should know your name, miss, and what your favorite flavor of ice cream is.”

Ro's 1-1-1 Challenge Details

A/N: In case you were wondering, the life lesson I wrote Steve Rogers teaching us is one that I constantly struggle with, too. This is an everyday, uphill battle to recognize our own worth and know that taking care of ourselves is not selfish. I hope this serves as a wee reminder!

Taglist: @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #61 – Mammoths at the Gates by Nghi Vo

This is the latest in my now-extremely-belated attempt to read all the nominees for Best Novella from this year’s Hugos (only need to hunt down a copy of Seeds of Mercury somewhere now!) It was a well-done, enjoyable read – nothing to change your life but, frankly, would have been far more deserving of the prize than Thornhedge was.

This is the fourth in the Singing Hills Cycle, following the itinerant archivist-monk Cleric Chih as they travel across a vaguely Chinese fantasy setting collecting histories and folktales to be collected into the monastery archives. After nearly three years walking the earth, they return to the titalur monastery itself to discover Cleric Thien, a very senior cleric and their own mentor, has died in the intern. Of more pressing concern, two members of their family are outside the gates – one of them a corporal in the Imperial Army with her command of two war-mammoths – demanding their body turned over to buried with their family and ancestors instead of interned in the monastery catacombs. And if that wasn’t enough of a complication Myriad Virtues, Thien’s companion neixin, has been driven to self-mutilation and a total withdrawal by her grief. It is, needless to say, an eventful funeral.

For all that, it’s not a particularly exciting novella, let alone an action-packed one. It’s very much, and very consciously, About Grief in a few different ways. Compared to earlier stories in the series, the narrative is far simpler, with none of the playing around with framing devices, unreliable narrators, or stories-within-stories that have kind of been the cycle’s trademark until now. The freed up space is instead used to make Chih far more of an actual character than they have been previously, rather than just a cipher to experience the narrative happening around them.

I do find myself slightly annoyed at the book because having set out such a genuinely messy and compelling conflict – both on the level of ‘who gets to decide what funerary traditions to follow and where the body is kept, the religious institution or the aristocratic family?’ being the sort of thing that has absolutely started wars, and with ‘who decides how someone should be remembered and grieved, their family or the people they choice to build a life with’ being a theme with a certain amount of contemporary resonance even without the whole thing where clerics are universally refereed to as they/them and Thien’s granddaughters kept insistently referring to them as a man – the book gave itself an easy way out on several different levels. But that’s just me being irritated it isn’t a different story entirely – this is a gentle, elegiac story; the central emotion is the melancholy of quietly organizing a loved one’s things after they’ve passed. On that level it works quite well and is even beautiful at points.

I’ve said before that this series would adapt near-perfectly into a high budget miniseries with a 40-60 minute episode per novella, and I stand by that. If anything, it feels like it’s only getting more true. It does feel like a bit of a loss, though – maybe I’m remembering it as more than it was, but I think Empress of Salt and Fortune had a level of thematic and narrative ambition that all of its sequels have kind of lacked. This and Into the Riverlands especially feel like they exist in a different and...shallower? Simpler? Clearer? Register than the first two entries in the Cycle.

Ah well. It would have to far a long way before it was even in the conversation for most disappointing book I read because of a Hugo nomination. On balance, lovely read with a dog cuddled up beside you on the sofa.

[rankheresy]

A regrettably belated works reveal

Sometimes things are forgotten that shouldn't have been.

Behold, then, the reveal for the March 2024 writing competiton: Roast of Nations!

An Ordinary Evening was written by 12Zxcvbnm12 (Twilight, 6515 words) "What could be wrong?" Anna throught the day before her death.

Of Petunia's Grudge Against Magic was written by SpectrumStormblade (Harry Potter, 1650 words) Petunia and Lily were close when they were younger- they didn't stay that way. Petunia's world and the window to Magical Britain through her personable younger sister Lily could never have coexisted under the burden of time. It follows the sisters from pre-Hogwarts to post Lily's death. British cultural references were incorporated where possible in an attempt to capture the spirit of the challenge, contrasted with features of the Wizarding World.

I made the choice to author reveal since so much time has passed, as that tends to drive reader engagement up a bit (which is very due to these poor neglected authors). Now go read, good people!

(And for future times, don't be afraid to let me know I've forgotten and please tell us you've written an entry! I (Vinelle) did not believe anyone had written anything, and foolishly failed to check. Absolutely come hit me with the reminder branch, it's never a bother.)

[anticidic]

HAPPY TEN YEARS. It hadn’t been quite that long for Chuuya; he was going on his second. He raised his glass to no one except the air itself. To the terminally bored—the terminally bored elite. Maybe someone would win this year and the party wouldn't end in bloodshed. There's a winner, and with a winner in the game means someone has to lose.

A very belated entry for Dachuu week, but better late than never.

A pinch of angst and lots of hurt/comfort wrapped up in a pretty bow. ♡

12,146 total words

Explicit

Service Top Alpha!Dazai/Dom Bottom Omega!Chuuya

[kale-theteaqueen]

And Now She Becomes Death

Written as a belated entry for @nestaarcheronweek 2024 Day 7: Free Day.

Months and months have passed since Nesta Archeron cut the King of Hybern's head off.

In that time, the River House has been built, Velaris is once again vibrant, and everyone is enjoying the happiness that was hard earned, and at great cost. Well, mostly everyone.

Nesta, who spirals further and further into her own grief with every passing day, has instead burrowed into her tiny apartment in the city, intent on drinking her sorrows away.

But when she goes missing, a concerned neighbor shatters the relative contentment the Inner Circle had been enjoying. Now, faced with the very real possibility that she is once again in the clutches of the enemy, they must stop at nothing to get her back.

For Cassian, that means tearing the world apart, until he has the chance to make sure his mate comes home safe.

But Nesta is no damsel. She was taken by Hybern once, they will not succeed twice. Now is the time for vengeance, and she will not stop until every last one of her enemies is vanquished.

A post-ACOWAR revenge plot AU, in which Hybern kidnaps Nesta as revenge for the death of the King.

Read More on A03:

Tag List: @c-e-d-dreamer @podemechamardek @talkfantasytome @moodymelanist @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @doriansgf @eerievixen @sweet-pea1 @thewayshedreamed @agents-assemble @jsmelodies @aelinchocolatelover @unlikelypersonalknight1 @slipknotvol3 @stylishmuser @lady-winter-sunrise

[coimbrabertone]

Le Mans vs. Daytona, Two Sides of the Endurance Racing Coin.

A bit of a belated blog on the 2024 24 Hours of Le Mans, how it compares to the other major 24-hour race - the Rolex 24 at Daytona - and how IMSA and WEC differ.

First things first, sports car racing in general is at a peak right now.

The largest prototype fields in decades, interclass competition of sorts with LMDh/GTP cars on one end and Hypercars on the other, and equally diverse GT3 fields to go with it. It's not a competition between IMSA and WEC as far as I'm concerned, both series collaborated on these regulations and that has benefitted endurance racing as a whole.

That being said, I've noticed some differences between the two, and I've had some discussions with friends about it lately.

The crux is this: the Rolex 24 at Daytona is the curtain raiser for the racing season, where drivers from every discipline from Formula One to NASCAR to half the Indycar field, plus all the regular cast of characters from endurance racing come to play. It's all within the confines of a 2.5-mile oval with big grandstands and clear sightlines, and the lights are all over the track, meaning you can see all the action pretty well. It's also in Daytona Beach a few weeks ahead of the Daytona 500.

Daytona is a party, a celebration of motorsport to kick off the next season of racing.

Le Mans, meanwhile, is a beacon of history. The start-finish line is where it has always been, the Dunlop Bridge has outlasted Dunlop itself making racing tyres, and it's an old school reminder to when those types of circular bridges were all over racing. Then onto the Mulsanne, the long, dark highway, with bits of civilization interspersed with woods, a theme with continues in the back half of the track. Some corners are named after historic tracks, like Indianapolis, others are named after the marques which defined era of Le Mans history - Corvette, Porsche, and Ford in particular.

Corvette, which has dominated GT racing at Le Mans for decades now.

Porsche, which is the most successful brand at Le Mans, and

Ford, who went back-to-back-to-back-to-back in the late 60s with the GT40, and then returned with the GT1 and GTE models in more recent decades.

That dedication to history shows in the broadcast too, with the broadcast often cutting to Tom Kristensen for interviews or by harkening back to similar events in Le Mans' past. Obviously, that's something that comes up in all racing broadcasts, but it was very apparent at Le Mans this year.

For the record, I'm not saying that's bad, this blog is proof that I'm a massive nerd when it comes to racing history, and I love that, I'm just noting it's a difference.

The crowd burning a couch in celebration after the 12 Hours of Sebring? Fans celebrating the misadventures of the Sean Creech Motorsports American flag Ligier LMP2 with its many cautions at Daytona and now Watkins Glen? You don't really see that at Le Mans.

In fact, there was one very fun thing from the 2023 Le Mans that was missing this year: the Garage 56 NASCAR. Now, i understand that was a one-off thing, and I do get the impression that the hydrogen car they showed off before the race - which was numbered #24, just like the NASCAR had been - was supposed to be a G56 entry for this year but they couldn't quite get it working yet, so I know that it's a bit of an unfair criticism to levy against Le Mans.

Still, 2023 had the big Camaro memes, the V8 sound, all those Freebird on the Mulsanne edits, it made Le Mans more fun.

And of course, Le Mans is fun even without those things - ferris wheels, fireworks, and, you know, the whole twenty-four hours of motor racing thing - all make for appointment television for racing nerds like me, but it is something I've noticed coming out of the 2024 race.

So does Le Mans need to change? No, i don't think so.

I like seeing cars coming down the Mulsanne, I like seeing the Ferrari hypercar racing against Toyota in addition to all the cars that do both IMSA and WEC, I like the announcers getting increasingly delirious as it gets into the night stint, and I like the fact that Valentino Rossi is now a BMW GT3 driver who competed at Le Mans.

The Rolex 24 at Daytona is probably more fun that Le Mans and its position on the calendar probably lets it get a handful of one-off drivers that may not be able to do Le Mans, but Le Mans also attracts plenty of unique talent as well. Ferrari doesn't do IMSA, nor does Toyota, nor does Valentino Rossi.

Would I like them to? Absolutely.

Am I fine with just having two different, successful endurance racing series on either side of the Atlantic? Absolutely. It's like the modern version of CART vs. Formula One as far as I'm concerned, only this time, I'm in a position to enjoy it.

So yeah, there are some things I prefer about IMSA, but there's plenty I love about Le Mans as well.

Hell, the fact that after the sister Ferrari won last year, we got to see the #50 Ferrari of Nicklas Nielsen, Miguel Molina, and Antonio Fuoco win. Both cars have now won Le Mans, and this means that last year's Antonio Giovinazzi, and this year's Antonio Fuoco - two drivers I've followed since the mid-to-late 2010s when they were actively in the open wheel junior series - are both Le Mans winners.

That's cool. I love the fact that drivers can fulfill their dream of winning for Ferrari, not just in Formula One, but now at Le Mans too. It's a great time to see, and between this and Indycar, I'm developing a lot of hope for talented junior drivers without F1 prospects.

Hell, on that very note, Felipe Drugovich raced at Le Mans for Action Express Cadillac this year, which seems to be his first time back in a major racing series since his F2 title campaign. Glad to see him back behind the wheel, just wish it went better for him.

Anyway, this last weekend of racing was a bit of a dud for me and I find myself busy yet again, so I'll leave the blogpost here, but do let you know what you think!

[estro-gem]

Jax x Ragatha: Blood in the Water

The Amazing Digital Circus AU: Oasis

Author's note: Happy Valentines day! (even if it's belated) Have some angst and psychological torment~ (And a teensy bit of fluff) This entry has a lot of Jax, Gangle and Ragatha mixed together. I don't know how to label it, because it's not a Ribbun fic, but it's not entirely a Bunnydoll fic either. It's just a little mix of things.

Warnings: Abusive/Unhealthy relationships Depression Mania Implied violence Threats Talks of character death Animal instincts (RIP to the people who understand the signs)

SUMMARY:

Gangle is accompanied by Jax, who had requested her assistance with something unexpected. As the two spend some time together, Jax realize that there is more lurking beneath the mask she chooses to hide behind. Due to the outcome of a quarrel, the rabbit is left to his own devices and ultimately seeks out Ragatha's company to make a special delivery. As the odd couple eventually part ways, Ragatha is left unaware of a bloodtrail enticing an evil that they hadn't encountered in a long time. This is literally the only way to summarize the story without spoiling anything.

BLOOD IN THE WATER

Tissue paper. He wanted tissue paper to make paper flowers.

While the use of tissue paper could make for beautiful, simplistic, soft flowers, it wasn't something that Gangle would consider Jax to use. Tissue paper was frail and hard to handle without running the risk tearing them - especially for the rabbit, who was known for his rough grip and impatient streak.

But to Gangle's surprise, Jax insisted for tissue paper as bright and blood-red as it could be.

The ribbonoid could provide; happy hand over her stash she usually kept for the sole purpose of bleeding tissue-art, since the bright colour bled the best when compared to the other shades of red she had used in the past. It wasn't often for her rabbit-friend to partake in crafting arts, so she milked the moment for what it was worth, curious to find the reason behind the sudden interest.

Explaining and demonstrating the process of making the flowers was easy enough. The rabbit was delighted to see that they were simple to make - following her instructions with white sheets to practice with, before jumping to use the red sheets once he got it down. She sighed, a little annoyed by how she was going to have to beg Caine to replenish her green pipe cleaners, but happy to see Jax take the activity so seriously.

"Who knew that some people would spend their whole life wasting time on things so stupid?" Jax mused to himself as he picked at the thin, upper sheet of red paper to seperate it from the others.

...Well, as serious as he could manage it.

"And yet, here you are; wasting your oh-so precious time on the very thing you are calling stupid." Gangle smiled sarcastically as he finally managed to grip onto the sheet, then moved it painstakingly slow to fluff it up without tearing it.

He could insult the activity all he wanted, but he was taking it seriously.

"Because it's not stupid when I do it~!" Came the smug chime of Jax's voice that Gangle anticipated.

"No, no, you're right!" She said in mock agreement, before taking the chance to jab at him, "...because calling what you are doing 'stupid,' would still be considered as a compliment."

"Watch it, sister!" the bunny warned, clearly annoyed at his slow progress. He pointed the blades of his scissors to the ribbon that was acting as Gangle's neck, before snipping at the air and making the girl internally freak out for a moment, "Yer one snip away from bein' decapitated."

Breathe.

"Nothing you haven't done before~!" The masked ribbon teased, attempt to mask her moment of surprise.

"Didn't do a good enough job before, by the looks of it..." Jax sneered, before abruptly dropping the scissors and resuming his tedious task of fluffing up the flower.

Slowly, the tension left the ribboniod's body and allowed her curiosity to seep into her mind once again, as she tried to figure out his motivation for this task that he was so clearly annoyed by.

Earlier, he almost bit her head off when she offered to help him make the flowers. 'Many hands do light work' was her reasoning, but Jax was having none of it. He insisted on doing it all himself, leaving Gangle to busy herself by using her other coloured tissue paper to bleed it into some of her silhouette drawings she made a while back. They were mostly trees and little birds sitting in branches.

She liked how staining - tainting - something could be considered as 'art.'

If the colours were overlaid atop each other by having complimenting shades and colours positioned just right, her tissue bleeding art could resemble a stain glass styled background. 

And what others would see as a mess, could become something beautiful.

"Finally!"

She heard Jax exclaim, like he was spitting a curse. She peeked up and saw Jax eagerly counting the flowers he made over the course of the long while they had spent together. There was a moment of silence. She saw him freeze - before scrambling to count them again, more carefully the second time. He picked up the long, fuzzy, green steels of the pile, placing them down in a new pile as he counted. One by one, he counted them until he placed the last one down and buried his face into his hands with a groan.

"Not enough?" Gangle mused, not bothering to look at him, but unable to resist the urge to tease him.

"Shut up!" He spat, grabbing other green pipe cleaner and picking up the tissue paper to cut them into singular sheets again. "I need one more and then I'm finally done with this $*%@."

The masked ribbon looked up to him, then rolled her black eyes towards his pile of red, rose-like flowers. By how they were piled together, she couldn't count them all.

"How many did you make?" She asked, not expecting him to give a straight answer.

"Not your business, crybaby."

Typical.

"Ok, sure... but the number of roses you give really matters, you know~?"

Jax scoffed as he finish cutting the paper and carefully started layering them. He scrunched them in the middle and twisted the pipe cleaner around it to hold it together.

"I don't care about those things." he mumbled more to himself than to actually answer.

"And yet you are so determined to have the number right...?" Gangle asked, skeptically.

"Ugh, shoo!" the rabbit tried to wave her away like a pestering fly, making her snicker to herself, "Get out of here and let me focus."

"It's MY room!" Gangle accused, "YOU get out."

"Alright, alright! Geez, just let me finish this one, you drag." Jax chuckles to himself, pleased to see Gangle worked up.

It grew silent for a while, but the silence wasn't uncomfortable. Neither of them were mad. Neither of them wanted the other to leave. They were content and comfortable in each other's presence, despite the harsh words and use of blades to threaten each other. It wasn't normal, that was for certain, but it was theirs - and they would remain closely intertwined, yet never merged.

No... they had their significant others for that. The ones they truly wanted. They never wanted each other...

They only needed each other once in a while.

Like they did the other day, when Jax was driven by the mercy of his animalistic urges to... well... to do whatever it was that they wanted him to do at the time. He motives were never easy to predict when he was in that state. Some of the things he did, was probably something that only a rabbit would understand. Or maybe even a rabbit owner...?

Once Gangle found him in his room, vigorously clawing at the crumbled tiles beneath their feet, causing the glitching mass that the void of the hole he was creating, to crawl up his arms and almost invade his entire form.

Another time, he would loom behind Ragatha and shadow her movements like he wanted to EAT HER. While the doll insisted that he was no danger to her; and that he was being playful when trailing or circling her, Gangle always felt the need to intervene when he'd started to nip at her shoulders. He was never happy be dragged away in those cases - always running tight circles around Gangle in attempt to avoid her grasp - even going as far to virosciously swipe at here in jagged blurry movements. He'd take hours to calm down and he hide away for just as long when he'd clear his thoughts after those particular episodes.

She didn't know why he would be exceptionally embarrassed about it those specific instances he'd go feral. He never really did anything strange other than acting like a creepy stalker, but in a weird Jax-kind of way. As he was capable of recalling what he did and thought after his feral episodes, Ragatha once asked him why he would act as he did and pry about what his train of thought was during said times. The chasing. The circling. The nipping. 

Jax would clam shut at the very mention of it, simply shrugging them off in dismissal and refusing to even acknowledge it.

It probably didn't matter all that much anyway.

The ribbinoid pondered for a moment, before deciding to take the chance to get some answers.

"So bunny, what set you off this time?" She asked casually, seeing him fumble with the flower he was fluffing up, "Why did you go 'rabbit' on us the other day?"

"Same old, same old, Ribbons..." Jax mumbled, clearly not keen to talk about it, "Just a random triggered event, nothing special."

He blinked away the clear image of milky fabric dorning a purple heart.

"You sure?" Gangle asked gently, "I won't judge, you know! I won't even tell a soul."

"Drop it, Bowtie." Jax said with a bit of a forced grin, "I said it's nothing important."

"You know... I don't think that's true! I'm worried about you. You'll feel better when you talk to someone about it-"

Jax gruffed and bared his teeth in a menacing smile, causing Gangle to raise an eyebrow as he hissed harsh words at her, "What, are you trying be Raggs now? You should know your place - stick to what you're good at, Crybaby."

"I'm not trying to BE Ragatha, Jax." Gangle spat back into his face, matching his snarling grin, "Is it that hard to believe that I could actually care about you?"

"You shouldn't. It's not what YOU do."

"Just like telling people what they should and shouldn't do, isn't what YOU do."

"Yer right, that guy's GONE." Jax snarled, dropping the flower to get up in challenge. To his surprise, Gangle didn't back down. She just smiled back eerily, sending a quiet shiver down his spine. He knew she saw it.

She knew.

"He never told me that I SHOULD do anything~!" she purred, her voice no longer raised, "We were a team, but you wouldn't understand that, would you? You have no one. You bound to be alone for the rest of your pathetic existence~"

Jax looked disturbed, then enraged, but determined to hide it, "Kaufmo was nothing but a tutorial that prompted everything you did." he sneered, "If he was anything more, he'd still be here, or you would be gone too."

"Oh, you think I am so reliant on him!" The girl huffed, dismissing his accusations, "I didn't need him to know what my purpose is. I don't need him to fulfil my role and I don't need him to be replaced by anyone. I don't need him. So don't you go accuse me for trying to take Ragatha's place while you're clearly trying to take his."

"Well, someone has to get you to clean up your act with your housekeeper going AWOL." Jax swiped to knock Gangle's cold grin off her face, but she was faster, slinking her lanky form up and stretching to grab onto the high canopy of her bed and crouching atop it to sneer a grin down at him.

"You think I can't handle myself? Bunny, I've been doing that for a while now~"

"So that's it, huh?" Jax thump his foot as his frustration grabbed a hold of him, "You don't care? You're not bothered about what needs to change for us to survive without him?"

"Nothing needs to change!" Gangle laughs, but it sounds like nails on a chalkboard, "Things will go back to how it was eventually."

"With him gone and that new sucker around?" the rabbit barks a bitter laugh, "I doubt it! Don't think I didn't notice your little grudge~ And don't come to me with that crap about her 'checking you out' or 'trying to mess up your thing with Zooble' or any other bull@$&#! I KNOW there's more to it than that."

"We don't need her." Gangle slowly stalks along one of the beams above her bed, crawling closer to the wall, "She's useless to us. It's only a matter of time before she'll be gone. You saw her. She barely made it through her first day!"

"So it's survival of the fittest now?" Jax's eyes widen, realising that she's walking down a familiar route - a route he was made to obstruct.

"So you are on HER side, now? You're no better than me for implying that she could replace Kaufmo."

"Oh my god... I never said that, you $@&#@!"

"Then what are you saying?" Gangle asked with quiet tone, laced with false innocence, "Before, you said if Kaufmo meant more to us, then he'd still be here... or I'd be gone. Are you saying that I'm not needed here anymore? Am I useless now that Kaufmo's gone?"

Jax was at a loss for words - he was at a loss for anything. She was beyond reason. She was in denial. He never saw her cry or mourn her friends death. He missed all of the red flags, while wasting his time chasing his dolly around. He neglected his role.

He neglected his friend.

Jax saw her idly crouch close to the wall. He knew that she was moments away from disappearing into the rafters above his head.

He could still save her from herself. He had to stop her.  He had to get that damned, grinning mask off.

"Gangle, get down. Now."

...

She leaped to the dark ceiling, above the lights and up into the rafters, among the beams that supported the impossibly large tent. The rabbit could only watch as she slipped out of sight, cursing his incompetence in the silence of his mind.

He flopped down, holding his head in his hands.

How long has it been since he saw her cry?  When last did he make her cry?  For how long did he allow her to cling to that damned mask now?

She seemed fine before...

"@#&$!" Jax exclaimed, wishing nothing more than for Ragatha to be there with him. His doll.

No.

Maybe Gangle needed Ragatha more than he did?

Damn it, Kaufmo... Where are you?

He turned to take a hold of the unfinished flower and continued to fluff up the petals. He had to keep his hands busy as he desperately raked through his thoughts to figure out a plan of action.

He would go find Ragatha, as he originally planned, to go do his thing.

And then he'd find Zooble to bash their triangular face in, to get rid of his frustration.

Then finally, maybe, they could find a way lure Gangle to them, before she does anything destructive.

To them. To herself...

Jax sighed as he finished his last flower; and then he cursed Kaufmo for leaving them in a mess that HE was meant to clean up. He would've known what to do.

Jax's ears drooped to his back now that he was alone. He allowed a moment for himself to breathe. He was the snake. He was coldblooded and opportunistic - not meant to show compassion. He was their outlet. He was their scapegoat. He was in control and he would give the others control.

Control over what they hated.

He just had to crawl a little further...

Jax huffed as he stood up and grabbed his self-made bouquet, modifying it to his own vision and his liking. I simple, large white sheet of paper he could nick from Gangle's supply would to wonders to tie the bouquet together. It's a shame he couldn't hold onto Ragatha's blue ribbon he plucked from her hair

It would've made for the perfect tie...

The rabbit adjusted his clothes and patted down his big front pocket, briefly thinking about it's infinite pocket space cartoon-features. In times like this, he really appreciated the neat little quirk of his form. He tried not to think about the logic behind it for too long - it made his head hurt.

He straightened up his ears before leaving Gangle's room, modified bouquet in hand and walked down the hall. His eyes trailed up to the unseen beams and structures above him, trying to shake the feeling of being watched.

What are the chances...?

Shaking his head, Jax hurried his way down the hall. He had to be quick. It had to be perfect. Just like he planned. She would never see it coming. He just had to make it to her room without being noticed...

As he passed Kinger's door, he noticed it to be open and stole a glance inside as he marched passed it. What he saw didn't shock him, per say, but it was something he wished that he could watch a little longer... maybe get a little context while he was at it...

Ragatha and Kinger were sitting on the rug in the middle of the chess piece's room, with the ragdoll allowing the king to rest his head on her lap. They seemed to be sharing a tender moment and Jax felt a surge of emotion at the sight of Kinger seemingly being of sane mind again. It was definitely happening more and more now the Kaufmo was gone... Or maybe he just didn't notice it before...? Hell, maybe Kinger felt the need to fight off the madness a bit more, in order to compensate for their loss in a way? He could only guess, but the fact of the matter was that the king was definitely more... all there... than he was in a while.

Jax couldn't take too long to dwell on that thought.

He reached Ragatha's room and hurried to summon the key to unlock it. He was sure that his doll's keen eyes spotted him in his haste passed Kinger's open door; and the prominent bouquet in his hands would look, suspiciously, a lot like a weapon in passing, so it was only a matter of time before his dolly-dearest came running. It only took him a few moment's to slip inside, work his magic and carefully exit the room again.

No sudden movements...

He smiled to himself as he was just in time to stand away from the door - not looking suspicious at all - with the bouquet in his hands as he wore a bright smile that would put the very sun to shame. Ragatha stumbled out of Kingers room, looking like she was trying to find any excuse to... well.. excuse herself from Kinger's company to make her way down the hall.

He knew she would come running~

"Dollface~!" Jax called in mock flirtation, as she approached with a curious, yet suspicious look on her face, "How lovely to see ya on this fine day-"

"What did you do this time, Jax?" Ragatha asked with an amused sigh, eyeing the paper flowers with intrigue gleaming in her eye.

Jax dramatically gasped, putting a hand to his chest as if his heart was ripped out by her mere question, "Yer breakin' my heart here, Doll! Can't I just get my most favourite ragdoll in the entire Circus some flowers?"

Ragatha laughed, amused by his charm, "Honey, I'm the only ragdoll in the Circus!"

"Not the only one~" Jax winked, casting her a knowing smile.

He had another doll... in his room. One Ragatha made just for him. One that proved to him just how much his ragdolly cared for him, even if it was just by making a mere plushy. It was her promise to him.

Ragatha give him a fond smile, while shaking her head, "Oh, Jax..."

"Yeah... Uhm..." Jax cleared his throat, trying to move the conversation along, before things got too sappy, "Speaking of... These are yours. See it as a peace-offering after destroying your door and all..."

Ragatha's eye lit up by the sight of the deep red flowers that the rabbit practically shoved into her face, "Oh, Jax... These are paper flowers! They look handmade too... Did Gangle-?"

"Oh no you don't, Sweetheart~ I made these myself! Too bad I couldn't get ya real roses... I'd love to make a 'smell the roses' joke out of that!"

Ragatha unwrapped the flowers from the white sheet of paper, eager to see how he made them. She chuckled in wonder when she saw the green pipe cleaners acting as stems and took the chance to quickly count them.

"Nine roses, huh?" She spoke, almost breathless as her cheeks started glowing bright red.

"You like them?" Jax asked, looking her in the eye with a definite fondness.

How he would cherish this moment...

"It's perfect." Ragatha breathed, like a prayer, mirroring what he had told her in the past, "Perfect."

Jax gave her a smile that seemed to be laced with a strange melancholy as he absorbed her words. For a long, heated moment, the two only looked at each other, getting lost in their gazes. They were so close.

So close.

"You maybe wanna put them in your room? Ya know... before I get an earful from Zooble for being sweet on ya?" Jax smirked as he softly spoke, almost hypnotizing his Dolly into melting.

"Oh you~!" Ragatha sighed dismissively, yet fondly as she walked by her bunny to open her door.

Jax took a breath as she passed him, calming himself.

Don't laugh.

Don't laugh.

DON'T-

It was over in a matter of moments, just as Jax had anticipated. Just as he had planned.

Ragatha, knowing that Jax had keys to everyone's room, didn't think twice about her door being open by a mere crack after finding him standing right next to it when she found him in the hallway with a bouquet in hand. Hell, she was too distracted by the bouquet in her hands to pay attention to anything else. She didn't anticipate the full bucket of water balanced atop her door... or how it tumbled to spill water all over her form as she entered he room, cradling the soft, tissue paper flowers. The mass of water drenched her from head to toe and caused the bloody red tissue paper to crumble and melt into a big, soggy mass in her arms, matting all over her milky fabric she had as skin.

Her precious gift, melted and ruined. His time and effort, wasted.

Jax couldn't contain his laughter any longer, bursting into a fit as he saw her freeze in her doorway, before slowly turning to face him with a shocked, dead, expression. Her eye was glossed over with tears welling up at the sight for the flowers being completely ruined - a soggy sludge she tried so desperately to hold onto, only for it the sloppily drip to the floor as it seeped through her fingers.

"You should see your face, Raggs! Oh my god!" Jax laughed, gasping for air as he barely managed to speak simple phrases.

He should feel bad... but after this day he's had...? He really enjoyed a good laugh.

"My..." Ragatha spoke in a quiet, broken voice, "My flowers..."

"Ha! More like your SLUDGE now, princess~" Jax taunted, before harshly grabbing her wrist and holding it up for her to see.

Ragatha's eye widened as the sight of her pale fabric-skin; stained a smudged red as the tissue bled the bright red colour onto it. It would take hours of washing to get it out... or a hassled conversation with Caine to snap it back into it's former glory. Ragatha's heart sank into her shoes at the sight of her ruined flowers and the stains they left tainted onto her hands and arms. A lone tear crawled down her cheek.

It was such a thoughtful gift too...

"Looks like I'm not the one that's caught... red-handed! Ha!" Jax joked, seemingly unphased by her distress, before looking down at her with a cold look that she couldn't decide to be alluring or heartless "I've gotta say though... That look isn't half bad~"

He always thought that she looked so beautiful when she was crying. Now there she stood, tainted by his on doing. Beautiful... One could call it art.

"Anyway~" Jax dropped her hand like it was trash, shaking his glove as if he could shake off the sludge that the flowers had become, "This was fun and all, but I gotta go harras Zooble now, mmmkay? Don't miss me too much, Sweetheart! You wouldn't wanna hurt yourself~"

Ragatha stood silent as she watched Jax saunter off until he was out of the hall and out of sight. Her heart felt like it was shattered into millions of pieces, before being stomped on; only to ultimately resemble the blood red mass that now laid on the floor in her doorway.

He was... He was...

She couldn't think of a suitable thing to call him as she numbly looked over to her bed, wanting to collapse onto it and refuse to get up the next morning.

...But something caught her eye...

He was...

On her pillow, clear as day, laid a single, red flower, just like the ones he had gifted to her in the form of the now ruined bouquet.

One blood red flower, put aside and spared from harm, for her to keep. For her to admire.

He was her monster.

Hypnotized, Ragatha was lured to her bed, idly letting her door slowly swing shut by it's own accord as she fully entered her room. She was too distracted to see the glimmer of red ribbons ooze through the shrinking crack of her door...

As it clicked shut.

Author's note:

And there you have it, folks! Everyone in Oasis is messed up, hooray! There's a storm coming~ RIP Ragatha, I guess...

By the way... did you know that there were special meaning behind the number of roses you gift someone? Did Jax gift Ragatha 9, 1 or 10? All of the above? Who knows~ Bet he does... Mister 'I don't care about those things' (...asshole.)

Oasis: TADC AU list

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